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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855388">to keep the wolf from the door</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanna/pseuds/Makari%20Crow'>Makari Crow (Beanna)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, appearances by ensemble but focus is Xander/Ryoma, most of the Hoshido characters are werewolves now just go with it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:42:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>242,568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beanna/pseuds/Makari%20Crow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years ago, the sorcerer Garon murdered Ryoma's father and got away with it. His younger sister Corrin vanished at the same time, and whether kidnapped or murdered, the end result was a pack nearly overwhelmed by tragedy.</p><p>These days, they're doing all right. As much as any family can, when they've lost this much. Except:</p><p>Ryoma has met the dreadful fate of developing a crush. And even that on its own might have been fine, but there's an ancient magic underneath it, one driven by wolf and wild, that wants just as much. And the person in question, who seems to be completely oblivious to magic, werewolves, and death, happens to be the eldest son of the man who murdered Ryoma's father in the first place.</p><p>For Xander's part, he knows he's missing something; he knows there are puzzle pieces that he can't seem to put together, but whether it's because he doesn't have the right pieces or because there's something else at play is a question he doesn't know how to answer. </p><p>Each of them is certain that the other is the best worst idea he's ever seen. And despite their own differences, there is one certain truth between them: they will do <i>whatever they must</i> to keep their family safe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marx | Xander/Ryoma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. wolf night, fifteen years ago</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplejabberwock/gifts">purplejabberwock</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work wouldn't exist without Pur, who, in about November 2018, urged me to actually write the ideas down, and kept faith in me continuing to write.<br/>And I did. For eighteen months and change. And here it is, finally.</p><p>Detailed content warnings will be on a per-chapter basis. Owing to the Nohr fam being what it is, there's probably going to be a fair chunk of those. If you spot something that needs to be warned for that I've missed, please let me know.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: death/murder, animal death (sort of). Canon-compliant character death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wolf night is a rumbling pool of fur and paws and human-shape pups, twisting through each other with wagging tails and flailing arms as pack sorts out who’s going where. The reddest pup is still twolegged, and unhappy about it; she’s flung her arms around her eldest brother and is wailing into his ruff.</p><p>Sumeragi-wolf, Storm-wolf, goes over to shove his nose in her face.</p><p>She detaches from her brother and throws her arms around her father instead. He bears this patiently, as one has to with pups, and the brother who smells like clear skies after rain picks his ears back up from where they’ve been pinned flat against his skull, slinking out of range while he can. Storm-wolf licks his pup’s face till she laughs instead of crying, till <em>it’s not fair wanna run too</em> gets turned into something more affectionate. Wind-after-rain-pup was the first of his pups to go four-legged, and immediately after his sister has been inseparable from him when he is.</p><p>The tall form of the storm-wolf’s mate is there beside them then, scent mingling with that of the pup on her hip, and another clever-eyed packmate pressing up beside them both. Laughing now, the red pup is more willing to take her father’s kisses and allow that packmate to insinuate himself into her grasp. She takes big fistfuls of his fur, which is borne with barely a flicker of an ear, and between her determination and just a little help from her mother, she gets settled.</p><p>Storm-wolf licks her again for good measure, and turns his nose up to his mate, tail absently swishing. Despite her not-wolfness she is still new growth and trees after rain, all things good if sometimes chill and sharp, green needles and rich life. Her scent rolls over him as he opens his mouth a space, and promptly sneezes on her.</p><p>His mate laughs, because she is like that and she understands, and she leans over him with dark hair falling like a curtain till she can press a kiss to the broad curve of his head, slip her free arm around his neck and dig fingers into his ruff. He leans into her, eyes closed and simply <em>being</em> for some little while, until excited yips and whuffs draw him back to where he is.</p><p>There’s a little hand closed in his fur. The pup has caught hold like her mother, the picture of determination with silver curls and firm grip. Storm-wolf doesn’t quite catch the babble of what she says, but his mate does, and what follows is <em>well all right, your father will take care of you</em>.</p><p><em>Daddy</em>, the pup declares brilliantly, and clings to his fur like a burr.</p><p>He turns his head to nose her, to make sure her weight is even across his shoulders and that she can hold and he can still run. Around them other wolves and pups are coming to their own arrangements; some will stay, some will go. His other pups are too young to hold well enough for this yet, but someday, someday they’ll run together.</p><p>It’s hard to stay still. He shoves his nose once more against his mate for good measure, breathing springtime pines in and exhaling a happy sigh. Then: motion, with the pup on his shoulders giggling already. There’s the ropes for the door, tugged at firmly by that same clever-eyed packmate with his enthusiastic helper, and then the door gives way to night, to moon-bright and the crisp chill of the air and all the scents of the woods. Storm-wolf breathes these wilder scents in, now, and he’s running before he realizes it, bolting out to see what there is to hunt and catch and play with.</p><p>The pack moves.</p><p>They move as one beast in many bodies, swept along by the sheer joy of existence. There is the stampede of paws and the give of fresh earth under them, the moon’s light and every scent in perfect relief, painting a vivid landscape before them, and it is all theirs, this night. Even the unfurred pups feel the call and the delight, and more than one of them raises voice to harmonize with four-legged pack, flat tones melding in well nevertheless.</p><p>Someone takes off after a deer, and the rest follow, flowing and splitting and herding.</p><p>The storm-wolf falls in with them, watches his pack hunt, not quite so buried in instinct and moonshine that he cannot be proud. The pup clinging to his fur giggles, holds tighter, a grip with the whole of her body.</p><p><em>Faster</em>.</p><p>Eventually he overtakes pack, blowing past the deer with a laugh in his open jaws. Too slow, can’t catch him! There are other scents in the night to find out about and chase and share the delight with.</p><p>The rambling takes the storm-wolf and his pup some ways distant. He can still hear pack, of course, belling howls across the span of woods between them, but for now it’s just him and the cheerful, onward-urging pup. There are warm, earthy scents hitting his nose now, something not-pack but living, and familiar in a way of hot blood under thin skin and moon glittering over stars.</p><p>And there are beats in the earth, rolling like a heartbeat up through his paws, like many hearts in sequence. He moves that way to find the source of the scents, fearless and bold in his lands, his pack’s woods.</p><p>Metal-and-sweat-and— what? What is it? Horse and leather, living and dead, metal and oil and something sharp—</p><p>Storm-wolf, Sumeragi-wolf, tilts his nose up and lets scents roll over his tongue, and he sees horses moving, slower now as they come near; horses with two-legged shapes astride, and the metal, the metal, his hackles go up—</p><p>But no, he knows these scents, too. His tail flicks; the fur across his shoulders settles, lies flat again under his pup’s weight.</p><p>—When did the pup stop laughing? Her grip is tight, tighter still, pulling hard.</p><p>He knows this scent, the one who leads on horse, the tall figure nothing like a stranger.</p><p>He also knows his pup is afraid.</p><p>The wolf moves, turns to go, and his paws sink in the earth, gouging deep and pushing him onward, and there is swift wind about him and they are free in the night—</p><p>Fire, fire at one shoulder, such that it blooms pain in its wake and nearly makes him buckle; but he cannot fall, <em>will</em> not fall with pup astride. Onward he forges, manages to fling himself forward at speed, but—</p><p>He is slowing.</p><p>Hoofbeats to each side, now, outpacing him, <em>insult</em> when he knows this strategy, knows well how to surround injured prey with pack at his side. He cannot keep running long, with pain bracketing a foreleg like lightning, threatening to give out beneath him with each stride.</p><p>Eventually a horse gets out in front of him and stops, rears, tugged up by its rider, and lashing hooves mean he cannot duck under to bite at soft belly without harm to the pup astride him. Neither, here, can he call that thing which rides in his veins, with moon quelling much below instinct and his pup too near— she is not, damningly, of his blood.</p><p>The wolf, Sumeragi, spins a wild circle, teeth bared and pain painting starbursts in his eyes, and the horses close. He lunges for one, desperate and biting for there’s nowhere else to go, and is struck back by a hoof. He reels, unbalanced, and the pup’s grip is tight enough that it hurts. She’s wailing now, a high thin terrified sound that beats at his ears and heart. It’s a sound the pack will hear, ringing out and carrying in the otherwise calm night, but—</p><p>Not fast enough.</p><p>His tongue lolls out of his mouth, careless, as he pants for air, circles again for some gap. This time a rider shoves at him with something metal, something that smells of oil and something hot, and Sumeragi recoils on instinct. Still moving, but slower, flagging.</p><p>
  <em>He’s got a kid— watch out, get her away from him—</em>
</p><p>Another rider swings down to the ground. The lead — maybe? — Sumeragi can’t tell, can barely even tell scent with his nose and mouth all full of blood and fear and burning. At ground level it’s a weak link. Sumeragi shies away, leans away from someone dipping low off their horse to snatch at his pup— darts in, lunging for a way out—</p><p>He sees the metal in the rider’s hand too late, as it sweeps up in one smooth arc, and there is sound and brightness and something burning inside him, burning like fire get it out <em>get it out</em>—</p><p>He hits the ground. Struggles up.</p><p>He has to protect his pup.</p><p>His limbs cannot hold; cold and darkness wash over him.</p><p>Has to—</p><p>Can’t—</p><p>His pups.</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The pack hears, and runs, and is not fast enough.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The eldest pup is still all legs and angles. He’s only had a few wolf nights, and this is the first one he <em>hasn’t</em> tripped over himself on. He is proud of this, when they hear his sibling crying. It means he can keep up, can stay with the rest of the pack running on to go to her. They’ll find her and lick her tears off and all will be well and they’ll get back to that deer— he was really looking forward to that deer, he <em>helped</em>—</p><p>Then there are the sounds. Loud, out-ringing, piercing the night such that every wolf flattens ears and fights instinct to run toward the sound, toward pup and pack, toward his father. The earth disappears beneath them, eaten up stride after long-legged stride.</p><p>Another shot.</p><p>The pup misses his next stride, hits the forest floor with his chin first. He scrabbles up, or tries to, but it’s as though he’s only a baby again, pinned down by an adult, reminding him <em>no, stay put</em>. Some great force keeps him down as the night turns to white and thunder around him. And the pup —</p><p>— He is Ryoma, son of Sumeragi; he is the wind that clears skies when the storm has passed, the fresh taste of dampness and newness and the bright dawn ahead; there is a power riding in him, now, the storm that was his father’s filling him up, pouring down his veins till there is no room left in him and then overflowing, crackling till the leaf and litter around him smolders.</p><p>Lightning comes out of clear skies, too.</p><p>Ryoma, wolf-pup, clear-sky-storm pup, lunges up desperate and already knowing what it means.</p><p>There are horses still, when they get there. At the arrival of the pack more than one horse simply bolts, knowing well they’re outnumbered, despite the riders yelling. Adults without pups give chase, howling, snarling something vicious and grieving.</p><p>More than one shot trails. Ryoma flattens his ears and slinks low, but no one else yelps, no one cries out.</p><p>His father — the storm-that-was — is still.</p><p>Ryoma noses up to him anyway, looking, hoping. Blood is a thick scent, overwhelming, choking, but they are sturdy wolves, maybe, maybe, only give him some low whine, anything.</p><p>Still, and quiet.</p><p>He shoves his nose deep in the thick fur, burrows close as though not to let warmth fade. And something strikes him— where is Mother’s pup, their sister? She was out tonight, too, with Father, and there is still some trace of her clear scent here.</p><p>Where…?</p><p>Blood soaks into his fur, and Ryoma flops down and wails, some terrible yowling sound he doesn’t even recognize as himself. The pack joins him, one by one, warm and close and desperate to be together. Together helps, even with something missing. It’s all they have.</p><p>And in the morning, human shaped and dazed with grief, they have to find some way to explain to Mother.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. a party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: mildly altered consciousness</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> "Careful," Hinoka says, drawing Ryoma a little ways into a corner. "I saw König on one of the place cards. Not <em>that man</em>, but probably one of his kids."</p>
<p>Ryoma's hackles would go up at that, but this form lacks the fur; he has to force his shoulders down from somewhere around his ears instead. "I wouldn't think they had any interest in wildlife conservation," he says instead, as soon as he can do so without rumbling.</p>
<p>Hinoka waves a hand dismissively. "Tax deductions, justification for future protected land purchases, whatever, neither of us want to know what's going on in that head. Just be careful, all right?" She sets her hands on his shoulders, tilting her head this way and that to study his expression from different angles. "Nothing stupid in public."</p>
<p>Ryoma snorts, a low whuff of a sound flavored with wolf. "You're telling me, baby sister."</p>
<p>"Takes one to know one," Hinoka says cheerily, and digs him in the ribs with one elbow before slipping back off among the assortment of well-dressed dispensers of charity.</p>
<p>They could, of course, go now. It’s a cause they have a vested interest in, certainly, but plates are already paid for, and charitable contributions made regardless. Then again… the moon is waning, and Ryoma isn’t very fond of the idea of fleeing just because someone here <em>happens</em> to share a name and probably a bloodline with the man who murdered his father.</p>
<p>So: staying, carefully.</p>
<p>Ryoma spends a little more time in that corner, breathing in even patterns till his heart rate slows. Most people look right by him. When he comes off the wall some several minutes later, he's calmer and ready to be polite. More or less.</p>
<p>Though he'll definitely concede it's a good thing Takumi isn't all that interested in things like this.</p>
<p>He snags a passing waiter to ask after fruit juice instead of champagne. Surely, if they can make mimosas, they have the raw materials for something non-alcoholic. Request thus lodged, Ryoma mingles and tries valiantly to enjoy himself.</p>
<p>He's more distracted than average, naturally. All along the way, he keeps track of Hinoka's red hair, keeps an eye open for— someone who looks or smells like That Man, <em>and</em> keeps half a decent conversation going. In deference to his split attention, he doesn't linger overlong on any one conversation, but he'd be remiss not to at least say hello to some of the people his family already knows from other conservation work…</p>
<p>And so on.</p>
<p>When the waiter finds him with cranberry juice, Ryoma nearly jumps out of his skin despite his best efforts. Such are the consequences of split focus. He apologizes to the waiter, thanks him for the extra work and also for the promise that his place will be earmarked for non-alcoholic drinks, and gracefully excuses himself.</p>
<p>Thankfully, this hotel has a balcony off the other end of the ballroom. Ryoma slips out onto it, lets the glass door close behind him, and rests his elbows on the stone balustrade. Cold seeps up into his forearms, pleasantly centering, and he can hear himself think again. He looks out on the parking lot, on the buildings beyond that, and gives some serious thought to shifting and running off. It's tempting, despite the restrictions of urban areas and the revenge Hinoka would surely take later.</p>
<p>Hinges squeak faintly behind him as the door unlatches, swings open. Ryoma turns, opening his mouth to say something— he assumes it's Hinoka.</p>
<p>It's not Hinoka.</p>
<p>Scent hits first, rolling over his tongue, and this, this is the best thing Ryoma has ever smelled in his life. Warm like days spent lazy in the sun in some distant forest clearing, rich earth that will nourish good trees and healthy woods— a hint of cedar and hot living blood—</p>
<p>He's never wanted to roll in something quite this much.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, it's a person.</p>
<p>"Am I intruding?"</p>
<p>One with a pleasant voice, too, low and smooth, and vividly Ryoma can imagine laying his head on that chest to listen, feeling the rumble all through him. </p>
<p>Oh, hell.</p>
<p>A question needs an answer, he's cognizant of that much. Ryoma should say yes, he is intruding, go away right now.</p>
<p>He shuts his mouth. Sun-warmed earth floods his nose instead, leaves his whole head alight. Wordless, Ryoma shakes his head.</p>
<p>"Thank you." There's a short, courteous nod in exchange. The man who is definitely the best company ever lets the door close behind him and moves to the further corner of the balcony.</p>
<p>Forcibly, by sheer dint of will, Ryoma makes himself look out at the grounds again. His mind is spinning, seeking purchase on thoughts and not finding any at all. The scent, the plain fact of the man's presence, weaves through him and overwhelms.</p>
<p>With as much subtle care as he can possibly muster, Ryoma darts quick, sidelong glances to assemble some mental picture beyond the concept of sunlit clearings.</p>
<p>Tall. Difficult to tell exactly how tall, the way he's leaning his hip against the stone balustrade, but he might be a hair taller even than Ryoma himself. Broad-shouldered, obvious even under the unforgiving stark black of his tuxedo. Ryoma guesses at a muscular build, gets promptly distracted by scent again, and must corral his mind once more.</p>
<p>Golden hair, faintly curling, just a little longer than the nape of his neck. Ryoma could— bury his nose in those curls, press his mouth to the delicate skin just behind his ear and taste—</p>
<p>What the hell is he thinking.</p>
<p>Ryoma curls his left hand till his nails dig furrows in his palm. It doesn't help much, but he lives in hope. At least the other man doesn't seem to have noticed; his head is bent over his phone and the quick <em>tick-tick-swoop</em> of rapid texting. Probably personal and private. Not Ryoma's business.</p>
<p>The wind shifts, carries his scent more strongly, and Ryoma bends, lowers his head to rest atop his fists. This is terrible. He hates it. He should turn and go so he doesn't do anything stupid.</p>
<p>He stays right where he is. </p>
<p>"Are you all right?"</p>
<p>The low query is horribly sincere and alarmingly close. Ryoma gets a nose full of his scent and has to strive to remember how to speak. "I'll be all right," he manages, after what's surely far too long. Think. An excuse. No, he can't just lean to the side for solace in that tall form. "I don't like crowds."</p>
<p>It's inane. It barely sounds like an excuse. But it means the man hums an understanding note which resonates something in Ryoma's chest. "I don't blame you," he says. So kindly gentle. Ryoma yearns. Someone so instinctively kind surely couldn't make a bad mate...?</p>
<p>He has leaned a little to that side before he stops himself. What the hell is getting <em>into</em> him. "I just," Ryoma says, and blanks on his thought, mentally tracking through sun-warmed earth instead. What does he just? He has to finish the thought out loud. "I just need a few minutes."</p>
<p>"I see," says the man of the best scent ever, tugging gloves on. "I've finished my business, if you'd prefer I go...?"</p>
<p><em>Yes</em>, Ryoma's human instincts say.</p>
<p>"Stay," the wolf instincts say with his human mouth. Ryoma straightens up, casting eyes out over the grounds again. The trees; the stones; the setting sun. He doesn't look to his side. "It's fine." This is his own fault.</p>
<p>"I suppose," the man says cautiously, "two people is hardly a crowd."</p>
<p>Ryoma knows his logic isn't the most sound, and he appreciates the out, nods gratefully. He's sure on another day he could come up with some better justification. Vaguely, he hunts some excuse for conversation, reasoning that it will be easier to manage the euphoria of that scent if he has something more human to focus on.</p>
<p>He can't come up with anything. He darts another glance sideways, finds himself observed in turn, and looks away. A heat he hasn't felt in years rises in his face.</p>
<p>His companion clears his throat gently, somewhere between polite and horribly awkward. "Are you here alone?"</p>
<p>"No," Ryoma says, thinks about it, and backpedals in a sudden and irrational panic. Let there be no misunderstanding about this sort of availability. "That is— my sister."</p>
<p>"Ah. I see." There's a pause. Ryoma risks another look. He can barely smell anything else. The man is far too lovely for Ryoma to keep looking at without betraying some interest. "Shall I get her for you?"</p>
<p>And he keeps trying to <em>help</em>. Ryoma firmly shoves off thoughts of dark eyes, dark corners, and warm kisses. "No," he manages. "I wouldn't want to interrupt her." And he will then have to explain to Hinoka why he looks like he's been hit by a moose. "Truly, I'll be fine."</p>
<p>"Very well." The man falls quiet for a moment. Ryoma can hear him shifting his weight from foot to foot — either nervous or impatient, Ryoma doesn't know and couldn't hope to guess. </p>
<p>Whatever the cause, it does little to take his mind from thoughts which are difficult to wholly conceal in public. Automatically Ryoma takes another deep breath for steadiness' sake, and just as promptly he forgets it with the scent.</p>
<p>"What brings you to this event, if I may?" </p>
<p>When Ryoma chances another look, the man looks politely curious, hands linked behind his back. He marshals himself. "Why do you ask?"</p>
<p>There's a small shrug, understated except in what it does to his shoulder muscles. "I don't immediately recognize you, and everyone has their own reasons. And… you seem— better when you are speaking?"</p>
<p>This last is offered a little hesitantly. Ryoma breathes out a soft laugh. He isn't far wrong. "Focusing on something else helps," he agrees, omitting why and what his primary focus is. "Yes. I— my family has an interest in conservation anyway. We manage a local nature reserve, as well as running and advising on wildlife rehabilitation clinics in several states. Most on this coast, but some further. And—" Ryoma frowns faintly, picking through words for what he wants to make most clear, here. What is it.</p>
<p>"And?" the other man prompts gently.</p>
<p>"I don't like being uninvolved," Ryoma says, all in a rush as he remembers what he'd meant to say. "I know at least a little of everything my family does. It's—"</p>
<p>Words fail him. "Better," he decides finally, despite not being able to lay a name on better than <em>what</em> right now.</p>
<p>"I believe I take your meaning," the man says carefully. There's some hitch Ryoma can hear, but has not nearly the ability to put name to. "It is an admirable ideal."</p>
<p>"Thank you." That much, at least, is automatic. Ryoma draws a shallower breath than he has been. "My sister mostly puts up with parties for the food."</p>
<p>There's a short startled chuckle. "I have sisters of my own," he says, some little bit fond. "The youngest will be much the same, I think."</p>
<p>Just like that, there is a bond. Another brother, a kind man, perhaps a little awkward but decent at heart.</p>
<p>Ryoma doesn't even know his name.</p>
<p>He turns his head to look, to ask, but before he can there's a chime from indoors. His companion twists to see, putting him in perfect profile, framed in golden light.</p>
<p>Very nobly, Ryoma doesn't groan with want. </p>
<p>"It's dinner, I think," the man says, turning his gaze back to Ryoma. "Will you be all right to go in?"</p>
<p>Ryoma's mouth is dry. All he can think to do is nod.</p>
<p>"Good." A smile like a sunrise. "Do take care of yourself."</p>
<p>He's slipping off inside in the next moment. Ryoma's head isn't quite clear, but it's easy enough to follow that scent inside, and from there family and pack are easy to trace, even if he does still have lungs full of summertime. </p>
<p>Mercifully, Hinoka knows where they're sitting. Ryoma trails her, absently scanning the crowd. Here and there the scent drifts back to him, and once they've found their seats it's easy enough to orient. They aren't sharing the table with his — whatever the man is, but he's three over. Ryoma can see his curls, taste his existence.</p>
<p>Hinoka elbows him. Ryoma looks at the people they're actually sharing a table with. "My brother has his head in the clouds," Hinoka says with a too-bright grin, the sort that means he'll be hearing about it later if she has to carry all the small talk herself.</p>
<p>Ryoma makes an apology he genuinely could not repeat if he was paid to, and tries to converse appropriately. At every lull — and sometimes mid-conversation — his eyes drift back. Once, the man looks back in turn, catches Ryoma's gaze and nods to him with some gentle acknowledgment.</p>
<p>Hinoka stomps on his toe, curtailing his half-formed plans to get up and go over there. Dinner passes by in a daze.</p>
<p>As they're winding down, Ryoma gets up with a slightly better formed plan to go and at least get a name. Maybe a number. Hinoka snags the trailing end of his hair and drags him down to her so fast his teeth clack. "You aren't here," she says to him, firm and intent. "Go dunk your head in some cold water or something, we'll run later."</p>
<p>She's trying to look after him. Ryoma finds himself simultaneously proud and offended. "I shall," he says, opting not to argue here. It's true that his head isn't where it should be. "I'll be back soon."</p>
<p>It takes some effort to go to the bathrooms instead of diverting to Mr. Three-tables-over, but Hinoka asked him. For her, Ryoma perseveres.</p>
<p>He spends a little time in the bathroom. The air from the vents here is cooler, air-conditioned, and the glass and tile don't retain scent so well as the closer warm air of the venue's main hall. Ryoma's mind clears a little, and, obliging Hinoka, he fills a sink with cold water and dunks his head in it. He resists the urge to shake and spatter water everywhere when he surfaces. His hair is thick; it'll take some time to dry out again, and in the mean time the coolness at his temples is a refreshing blessing.</p>
<p>That scent. It's not present immediately, but Ryoma swears he can still taste it when he thinks back. Now that he <em>can</em> think, he knows what this is. Father warned him about scent-bonds. Wolf instincts and the magic that melds their forms, blending together to point a wolf at… ideally, another wolf. One who resonates.</p>
<p>It's fine. He'll get less stupid as he gets used to it. He can get a name, some contact information. Maybe they can date. </p>
<p>Ryoma doesn't even know if the man knows about things like werewolves. Surely he wouldn't scent-bond to an oblivious human? </p>
<p>There's a lot he and Father never had the chance to talk about.</p>
<p>When he can breathe easily and clearly, he dunks his head again for good measure. Rivulets run down the back of his neck. Some parts of his shirt and jacket are definitely soaked, but if he read Hinoka correctly, then they won't be here very long and it won't matter.</p>
<p>Ryoma dries his hands. Steps out.</p>
<p>In the wind created by the swing of the door, warm cedared earth-scent hits him all over again like a very pleasant punch to the face. Ryoma reels, and tries to look like he isn't.</p>
<p>The man is leaning against the opposite wall. He comes off it when he sees Ryoma, crosses the hall to him. So close Ryoma could reach out and touch. He can't figure out the safest place to put his eyes. The curls that just brush his jawline? The one button undone at his collar, where the column of his throat points past the loosening bowtie to more? The quick flicker of thumb against fingers as he fidgets?</p>
<p>Ryoma swallows convulsively. Say something. Say something intelligent. "Hello again."</p>
<p>"Hello." His voice is warm. It's not fair. "Still all right?"</p>
<p>"Yes. I— thank you." Ryoma couldn't move if he wanted to. "I appreciate it."</p>
<p>"It isn't much." The man shakes his head. There's a hypnotizing moment where the tip of his tongue flicks across his lower lip.</p>
<p>Would he be upset if Ryoma leaned over and imitated the gesture, traced the trail of his tongue? Probably. Ryoma stamps on the impulse, and fortunately the man is shortly talking again.</p>
<p>"I— couldn’t help but notice some of your attention, during dinner."</p>
<p>Ryoma flushes, slow and hot and tongue-tied. "I hope. Ah. I did not make you too uncomfortable?"</p>
<p>The man offers another shake of his head by way of answer. "No. Not uncomfortable. I must admit I have noticed you as well. You are— quite striking."</p>
<p>For all that it's bold, there's an odd hesitant quality about his voice. Ryoma tilts his head to listen. "Thank you," he says again, at a loss for anything else. "I don't even know your name, I'm afraid."</p>
<p>"Xander." There's a watchfulness about him. Why? "If you are amenable," he goes on. "This <em>is</em> a hotel, in part. I could arrange for some privacy for a few hours. If you liked." There's a step closer. Still hesitant, but now Ryoma thinks there's something of invitation.</p>
<p>Ryoma holds his breath. He could— he could just lean—</p>
<p>The other man's warmth is intoxicating. Ryoma wants, and whines low and quiet in his throat with the effort to remember why he can't. "I—" he says.</p>
<p>He wants to wrap himself up in this scent forever.</p>
<p>"I cannot," he says, closing his eyes with no small amount of regret. "My sister is waiting. And this— you— I—" Damn it all, what words does he want. "I cannot be casual, I'm afraid."</p>
<p>Even if he could emotionally— not with this man. Not with magic in the mix.</p>
<p>"I see," Xander says, without much visible change, except that perhaps he closes off a little.</p>
<p>"If perhaps you," Ryoma begins.</p>
<p>He can't quite figure out how to ask the question, but regardless Xander is already shaking his head no. "I am not in search of a long-term relationship."</p>
<p>It's so pointedly formal. Ryoma would laugh if his enthusiastically half-formed hopes had not just been quite so thoroughly dashed.</p>
<p>But neither of them have stepped away. They are so, so very close, and Ryoma is leaning toward him by increments, half-drunk on scent and warmth alone. </p>
<p>Surely just one kiss wouldn't hurt. Ryoma sees Xander's eyes lid, notes the soft shading of his eyelashes, the gentling curve of his mouth. His breath carries his scent.</p>
<p>"Ryoma—!"</p>
<p>He's flinched, startled back before he consciously recognizes Hinoka's voice. The moment's gone, leaving Xander looking stony and Ryoma feeling vaguely empty, adrift.</p>
<p>Damn.</p>
<p>Hinoka comes up behind and beside, and quite firmly wraps the length of his hair around her hand. She tugs lightly. "I thought you had gotten lost or something. What are you <em>doing</em>?" Hinoka is scowling. Why is she scowling? Surely Ryoma has missed something.</p>
<p>"Your sister, I presume." In the space now opened between themXander offers a short bow. It's old fashioned, but somehow it suits him.</p>
<p>Hinoka's face twists up even as Ryoma nods. "Don't," she says, low and fierce, and there's a growl behind it. "Don't mock."</p>
<p>"I would not," Xander says, but it is distant now. "I do not know how I have offended you, Ms. Morimoto, but I assure you, it was unintentional."</p>
<p>"Huh," Hinoka says, and she doesn't sound like she believes him. "Sure. We'll be going now. The car's waiting. Good <em>night</em>, Mr. König."</p>
<p>She shifts her grip to Ryoma's arm only so she isn't dragging him off by the hair. Ryoma goes because it is the easiest course of action with his head reeling so. He knows the name, of course. How could he not?</p>
<p>So that's the son of his father's murderer.</p>
<p>"We don't have a chauffeur," Ryoma says. It's nonsensical, but better than the other problems he could be talking about. </p>
<p>"Why is your head full of stupid today," Hinoka demands, hauling at his arm. "We're going home, right now. Are you drunk?" She leans in to get a good whiff, and doesn't stop hauling Ryoma along.</p>
<p>"I had virgin drinks all night," he says, absently twisting to look back down the hall for the last vestige of Xander. "I'm not drunk."</p>
<p>Hinoka snorts. "You're acting like it. I saw you watching him all dinner. I thought you wanted to punch him with your fists, not with your face."</p>
<p>Xander is out of sight now; he must have gone himself. Only a faint trace of his scent lingers in the air. Ryoma inhales deeply, mournfully. "He's not what I expected," he says. </p>
<p>"We're talking about this in the car." Determined, Hinoka makes for the entrance. Ryoma lets her keep dragging at him. It's not like he can gain anything else now from going back, with Xander already gone.</p>
<p>There are still some guests lingering in the lobby. (None of them smell like warm growing things.) Some few turn to look as Hinoka, magnificent in crimson hair and ebony suit, tugs her brother straight for the grand double doors out. </p>
<p>Cold air hits Ryoma like a slap to the face. Out here, his head is clearer. "I'm driving," Hinoka says tersely, though Ryoma drove them here.</p>
<p>He opts not to argue, and hands her the keys.</p>
<p>Ryoma folds himself into the passenger seat of the sleek little electric car, still adjusted for Hinoka's legs. Hinoka pulls the driver's seat forward with a pointed look at Ryoma.</p>
<p>It is not <em>his</em> fault he got their father's height.</p>
<p>Hinoka waits till they're out of the parking lot to start in on him. "What the hell was that?"</p>
<p>Ryoma doesn't have a head full of dreams right now, but all the same, it's a difficult reconciliation. "He was kind," he says distantly, absently. "He worried about a stranger— he cares about his sister."</p>
<p>"He's not what you thought." Hinoka thumps the wheel in frustration. "Neither was Garon! He and Dad were friends and he <em>still</em> murdered him. I thought you knew, I thought you'd smell it on him, I didn't think I'd catch you making moon-eyes at each other—!"</p>
<p>"Stop sign," Ryoma says. Perhaps he should be driving.</p>
<p>Hinoka slams on the brakes. "You're acting incredibly weird. Ryoma— what happened?"</p>
<p>He waits for her to take the correct turnoff; waits a little longer for her to merge onto the highway. "I think it's scent-bond," Ryoma says, a little dreamily. "He's the best thing I've ever breathed."</p>
<p>"Oh." Hinoka is very quiet. Sound is subsumed into the highway. "...oh."</p>
<p>"Yes," Ryoma agrees.</p>
<p>"But," she says. "König."</p>
<p>"I know." Well, now he does, anyway. </p>
<p>What he doesn't know— is it possible, for pack magic like this to point Ryoma at someone carrying other dangers? It’s instinct and desire, not prescience, nothing like Mother. So: stupidity, or fate? His father's powers, the storm in his veins, have nothing of clarity, only raw brightness; there are no answers there. Raijinto is power, not miracle.</p>
<p>"Shit," Hinoka says.</p>
<p>"I don't think he's a monster." Ryoma leans his head against the cool glass of the window. "I don't know if he even knows anything of wolves. —But he said he isn't looking long-term."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't bet he <em>doesn't</em> know anything, either," Hinoka says, frowning. She keeps her eyes mostly on the road, save for one quick concerned glance to the side, at Ryoma.</p>
<p>"It's hard to ask without outing myself," he says wryly. The issue of the scent-bond hangs in the dark road sounds between them.</p>
<p>"Shit," Hinoka says again, with feeling. "Maybe Orochi knows someone we can bribe to slip him some wild mint or— something."</p>
<p>Ryoma's stomach turns over, sinks like a stone at that thought. Yes, it's not ideal. No, their desires don't match. But to take such a scent out of the world...</p>
<p>"He'd have to wear it," Ryoma points out, striving mightily to stay calm. "For a week or more. It'd be too suspicious. And aconite is dangerous."</p>
<p>"Orochi is creative," Hinoka says through grit teeth, and changes lanes so quickly it makes Ryoma come away from the window with a lurch.</p>
<p>"You forgot which exit we needed, didn't you."</p>
<p>Hinoka opts to ignore him, except that next they stop, she brakes harder than strictly necessary.</p>
<p>"It's not as if I'm at much risk of running into him often," Ryoma says, when they're a little closer to home. "It's been fifteen years. Longer, if you count our lives instead of..."</p>
<p>Father's death.</p>
<p>"Now he knows you," Hinoka points out. "That's something. And—well, we may have gotten into it a bit, before I found you. He knows your family, too." </p>
<p>Ryoma shakes his head. "Nothing will come of it." He says it firmly enough he even believes himself, despite a low distant yearning.</p>
<p>Hinoka treats him to an aggrieved sigh. "Are you honestly trying to talk me out of trying to break the scent?"</p>
<p>"...Yes."</p>
<p>She doesn't answer, but the next turn she takes is too sharp. "Hinoka!" Ryoma snaps, alarmed and reprimanding because of it. </p>
<p>There's a low rumble in her throat. She pulls over, flicks the hazard lights on, and turns the car off. "I can't believe you," she says, resting her forearms on the steering wheel and thumping her forehead off them twice. "You've gone your whole life without thinking with your dick, why are you starting <em>now</em>?"</p>
<p>"I'm not," Ryoma says, with some asperity. He would like the sex. It would be nice. All the same, he's more focused on the scent right now. Maybe some cuddling. Naps in the sun. "It isn't going to be a problem. I won't see him nearly often enough for that. And I'm not about to do anything stupid. Pack first."</p>
<p>Hinoka mutters grumpily into her arms. "Sure looked like you were about to do something stupid."</p>
<p>She's probably right. If Ryoma had had that one kiss, he would have wanted more.</p>
<p>"I promise," he says earnestly. "In any case, acting would open up more risk."</p>
<p>"Hm," Hinoka says, unconvinced. "I'm telling Mother."</p>
<p>Out with one problem, in with another. "Don't, please," Ryoma says. "It will only worry her unduly."</p>
<p>"<em>Ryoma</em>."</p>
<p>Well, also, Mother might insist on finding a way to break the scent. Ryoma really doesn't want to risk it. "If it becomes a real problem, I'll tell her myself," he says gravely.</p>
<p>Hinoka turns her head, just enough for one amber eye to narrow at him. "I'll be watching you," she says.</p>
<p>It would be more threatening if Ryoma did not so well remember her puppyhood.</p>
<p>"Very well," he says. "But for now—"</p>
<p>"Fine." Hinoka sighs. She thumps her head once more for good measure, then sits up. "I won't say anything yet as long as you don't do something amazingly dumb."</p>
<p>"Agreed," Ryoma says.</p>
<p>It won't be a problem. They have no reason to see each other again. Absolutely none. Mother will never have to know.</p>
<p>Hinoka drives them the rest of the way home in silence.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the afterparty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: Nohr fam.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xander stays standing in that hallway for a long time, after Hinoka Morimoto has dragged her brother away. He swears he can feel some phantom warmth, some echo on his lips of the kiss that did not quite happen. </p>
<p>He tries not to wonder. In a few sentences they have made it clear their goals are in contradiction. Whatever he had thought, whatever idle fantasies had begun to be spun of that long wild hair and that careful gentleness— Xander will set it aside now. He won't invite further accidents, especially not on someone so… so.</p>
<p>Now he is being foolishly romantic. Xander does not allow himself further lingering, tempting as it is, but he goes to collect his coat, and he leaves the hall and he pretends he is not looking to see if he can spot that distinctive silhouette in the parking lot. Surely they are long gone; surely it is pointless; surely he does not actually want to know. </p>
<p>He goes home. </p>
<p>Father is not immediately in evidence. Xander steps lightly until he passes the closed study on his way up to his room, notes the red silk scarf twined around the handle which means Father is not to be disturbed, no matter the issue. Some work keeps him busy, then, the sort Xander does not know the nature of and does not care to. </p>
<p>Up in his room Xander cracks the window. He's hot, has been since he stood too close to that man. Ryoma, his sister had called him. Xander pauses with a hand on the frame of the window and the cool autumn breeze stirring his hair and he wonders about opportunities missed — wonders if Ryoma looks out on this same night and does the same wondering—</p>
<p>He could have sworn he didn't have anything alcoholic, and yet here he is being further ridiculous. Xander strips out of his jacket with motions just a touch too forceful, and wishes for rain.</p>
<p>The weather does not oblige. Xander gets down to his undershirt, scrubs his left hand across his forehead, and sighs. Well, the next best thing will be downstairs, if he doesn't mind helping with whatever her current project is. </p>
<p>Truly, he never does. He changes slacks for jeans, wing-tipped shoes for steel-toed, and as a side precaution tucks gloves into his back pocket before he leaves his room. Father is still closeted, Xander notes as he passes the room; he may stay that way for hours longer. The time in his study has grown longer, this past year, and his mood usually fouler when he emerges. </p>
<p>Xander makes a mental note to send Leo and Elise out for ice cream tomorrow morning or afternoon— something of a last freedom before boarding school sets in again. If it puts them out of the house for a little while, so much the better. He'll suggest it. For now, he finds the basement stairs, and heads yet further down. </p>
<p>There's heat below, as ever. Camilla's workshop always seems to have its own heat to it, even when she's not doing anything especially intensive. Tonight there is no sound of power tools, but as Xander comes out of the stairwell, into the open space, he sees her sleek dark motorcycle hoisted up. Camilla is under it at an angle which surely doesn't look comfortable, but which she seems to be managing with grace, as she ever does.</p>
<p>By way of greeting, Xander clears his throat, taps the metal toe of one boot thrice on the cement floor.</p>
<p>"Just a moment, darling," Camilla says, voice a little muffled with metal and strain. Xander watches her shift, making some invisible yet surely vital adjustments below, and in perhaps a minute she has scooted free and sits up. It's always strange to see Camilla with her hair up, and Xander slants his eyes a little aside from the flash of shinier, pinker skin for the few moments before she reaches up and unclips her hair. Brown curls fall around her shoulders, framing and softening her face with their shade. There are still some paler streaks, hinting at lavender, remnants from the last time she dyed the underside. </p>
<p>"There you are," she says, getting to her feet. Grease streaks one hand and across her visible cheek, and she smiles up at Xander. It turns wistful after a moment, as she tilts her head to the side. "You have a look, darling. I know that look."</p>
<p>"I don't have a look," says Xander, who has gone to great pains not to have a look. </p>
<p>She reaches up to pat his face with the greased-up hand, fondly, probably leaving a streak of black on him as well, and she steps away to pick up her tools. "You're thinking of doing something silly," she says, beckoning over her shoulder. Xander trails her to the workbench, stands brotherly-obedient as she presses things into his hands to hold. A coil of thick wire; a screwdriver; no, not the screwdriver, she takes that back, changing her mind, makes him hold a little soldering iron and a pair of wire snippers instead. "You may as well help with this. I was thinking of a little ornamentation. Tell me what silly thing you aren't going to do, darling."</p>
<p>Xander would protest at that, but Camilla is already moving, and what can Xander do but go with her? He holds out wire and pliers when Camilla wants. "It's nothing," he demurs.</p>
<p>"Mmhm," Camilla says, singsong, and she spans thick rose-golden wire out between her fingers, humming. She can wait, apparently. She curls it over her fingers, pinches it, runs her hands down every inch of the wire. And it seems to change, just a little, perhaps as she warms it and bends it as she wills. </p>
<p>"What were you doing under it?" Xander asks instead, looking for something else, anything else.</p>
<p>"Highly technical things," she says, laughing lightly, like metal ringing with a flick of the finger. "No, it's nothing too difficult, only tuning. She must stay in perfect shape, after all. Mm— actually, hold this too, will you?" She reaches up under her hair to unhook her earring, a twisted ornament of black metal and opal, and this, too, she presses into Xander's hand.</p>
<p>It doesn't change much about her. Camilla has always had this way of being the only thing in the room when she wants, the place all the light and eyes are drawn to. But perhaps, Xander imagines, there is a little light about the rose-gold wire as she strokes it, something firmer. It is the way she wants it, now. </p>
<p>Of course, he is probably romanticizing much of her craft, and she may have only taken the earring off because it was catching in her hair. This is more likely than flights of fancy. </p>
<p>"There was a man," Xander says to the fall of her hair as she shapes the wire delicately around one of the handlebars. </p>
<p>"Oh," she says, and that one syllable encompasses a world of emotions. "Was there?"</p>
<p>"A gentle man," Xander says thoughtfully. He says nothing of appearance. Not of grey eyes nor the angles of his face nor the miracle of taming such a wild mane into a simple ponytail. "I would have liked to talk with him longer." </p>
<p>"Ahhh," Camilla says then, a long syllable like a sigh. This tells her much. "Why didn't you?" </p>
<p>"His sister." Xander cannot quite help the bare curve of a fond smile at the back of her head, even though she will be none the wiser. Sisters are, perhaps, wiser. While he still cannot quite fathom just what Miss Morimoto has against him, and why she seems to think he should know what it is, he will acknowledge that more than likely, her confiscation of her elder brother was for the best. "She had some opinions."</p>
<p>Camilla snips wire cleanly, presses the snips into Xander's hands. Pauses. "That's sweet of her," she says, in a way that makes it clear she's a little dubious. "Can you get me a thinner wire, please, darling? Same metal."</p>
<p>Xander goes to do so, setting what's still in his hands down on the workbench as he hunts for her wires. He takes especial care about her earring, placing it separate from the tools where it won't roll or fall easily. "He seemed like a— a serious person," he says, without having to put to voice anything about his unsuitability for long-term relationships, or the reasons behind it. "And his sister seemed genuinely concerned for him, though loud."</p>
<p>"Aw," Camilla says, opinion clearly shifting. "That's all right, then. Are you happy with things left that way?"</p>
<p>He isn't, not really, but there's no true other option. "It would be silly not to be," Xander says. As she said, earlier. Silly; foolish; ridiculous. Ah, here's where she's put her spools of wire. He measures against his fingers, picks out a narrower one and holds it up for Camilla's eyes in mute question. </p>
<p>"Of course it would be." She doesn't look for a moment, and when she does she tilts her head to the side again, regards Xander with that same fond wistfulness. "Yes, that'll do, darling. And the soldering iron."</p>
<p>Xander detours to pick that up again, and comes back to Camilla. She pats his cheek again before taking what she needs, relying on his hands as she moves his hold where she wants it on the wire and the motorcycle. "Thank you."</p>
<p>"Of course," he murmurs. Some time passes that way, as Xander helps and Camilla creates a dainty net of rose-gold across the sleek dark handlebars, interlacing the wires and melting them together at key points. She tests the pull of it more than once, turns the steering column, makes sure it obstructs nothing — only stays there and shines dully. "What is this for?" he wonders aloud, finally.</p>
<p>"To be pretty," Camilla says simply with a smile. "Because it pleases me, and I'm between other work and want something to do with my hands, and because she should have a crown of her own." This is accompanied by an affectionate pat to the chassis. </p>
<p>"You have achieved all that admirably," Xander says. He does not need to stand back and assess the overall picture to say that truly, though he does anyway. His sister does good work, and she has a finely honed sense for the place where raw practicality and delicate aesthetic twine into a knife-edge. </p>
<p>"Of course I have," she says, "but it is good to hear you say it."</p>
<p>Time with Camilla does not quite clear the man from his head, though it almost does the trick. Xander goes back upstairs in the wee hours of the morning, nose full of the scent of burning metal and oil, still hearing her soft injunction to be careful. Automatically he notes Father's door still closed — calculates — settles on reminding Leo and Elise about ice cream perhaps a little before noon tomorrow.</p>
<p>There are more important things to think on than a pretty face. His room is chillier, now, and the open window means it has been invaded by a fresher feeling, something cool and brisk. Now it only makes him think of those moments outside on the balcony.</p>
<p>He's tired. His foolishness will work itself out. Xander shuts the window, draws the curtains, and strips. Last to go is his own earring, the golden cuff and ornament that usually blends under his hair; this he sets on his bedside table, where he will see it in the morning, and it will be the first thing he puts on again. The tokens Camilla has made for her family carry a certain weight.</p>
<p>There is always a little more light in the room, when he takes it off. Xander runs one hand down the other arm as if to brush the faint glow off. As per usual, it does nothing, it simply is. </p>
<p>He has been all kinds of foolish today. What is a little more? For a moment or two Xander weaves shadow-puppets with his fingers in the light, because he can, because it's been years since he was that young and careless. </p>
<p>Only a moment or two. He is, after all, tired; and when he is less tired, he will be less foolish.</p>
<p>When he dreams, it is of an empty sunlit clearing, and in the morning he finds himself homesick, and could not possibly say why.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>In retrospect it's easy to say he shouldn't have asked. Looking back is always easier. Should have known, shouldn't have misstepped. A moment of weakness, maybe. A moment of getting ahead of himself hoping. Leo and Elise have since gone back to school, not to be seen for weeks or months, and Camilla’s out on a business trip, not due back for a few days. Corrin is still abroad. She didn't even come back over the summer. Father had said it wasn't practical, with their different schedules, and none of them questioned the fact that money wasn't <em>really</em> an issue with getting Corrin back and forth. </p>
<p>Her letters and emails, when she can write, reflect a brittle cheerfulness, a determination not to let any of them feel too bad for her distance. Xander thinks Elise still believes it. Leo certainly doesn't. </p>
<p>So the house is terribly empty, these last few days, and if there's any success in changing Father's mind an idea must be planted early, so that later it may be believed to be his own, and— somehow, Xander talks himself into asking if they might bring Corrin home for Christmas.</p>
<p>"I don't see why," Father says coolly, disinterested. It is over supper; they sit down for a perfunctory half hour on most evenings, not so much for the care of the thing, but because when Father is not busy with his work and his research, he likes to know where his children are. </p>
<p>"It's been a while," Xander points out. "And the holiday schedules line up, for once." He doesn't mean to fight the rest of it — though it would be nice if Corrin could be closer to home more permanently — but Father will be more at ease if Xander does not seem to be undermining his broader decisions. "I'm sure Corrin would appreciate being allowed to come home for a week or two."</p>
<p>"That's enough," Father says, more sharply now, and when he sets his glass down it's heavier than it needs to be. Xander doesn't flinch. "There's no point. I'll be busy over Christmas week, anyway."</p>
<p>Xander thinks about arguing. Father hasn't precisely said <em>no</em> yet. But if he's already poorly inclined, arguing may only make him double down in stubbornness. If there is any chance to change his mind, it will best be done over time. Later, and later, and later.</p>
<p>All the same, Xander wants to argue it. He's dreamed of that same sunlit clearing a few more times over the last week or two, and each time when it comes up he winds up feeling homesick, yearning, for no reason that he can find. </p>
<p>He's already home. What more can there be? </p>
<p>Well, if nothing else, it would be nice to have Corrin home.</p>
<p>Xander's hand aches, even gloved. He curls his fingers in slowly, and breathes out slowly, and doesn't argue. "I understand," he says, never mind that it sinks in his stomach, never mind that the yearning for something he can't reach is only more and more, now.</p>
<p>"As long as you understand." Father is still severe, as he glances over at Xander. The rest of the meal is a stony silence, which is both a mercy and a hardness. </p>
<p>Right now, arguing will make it worse.</p>
<p>Almost precisely at the half-hour, Father leaves his place setting and goes, back up to the study. Xander picks at his food a minute or two longer, to make the effort, to say that it doesn't matter to him whether or not Father is there. </p>
<p>He doesn't eat much more of it.</p>
<p>He gets up. He does the dishes. He moves, mechanically, down to the shop; but without Camilla in it there is no warmth coiled up there. On soft feet Xander moves from Camilla's forging space to Leo's library window-seat, to Elise's kitchen garden-box, to Corrin's—</p>
<p>She has been so long gone, so uncommonly here that even standing up in the tower, the one she loves for that she can see forever, Xander can barely feel her imprint on the space. This whole big house, and nothing and no one in it, only Father hidden in his study and Xander, rattling around from top to bottom.</p>
<p>It hits him all over again, the thing like homesickness, only now he can put name to it: a yearning for better times, earlier times. Warmth, and a house not empty.</p>
<p>Xander turns and walks out of the house.</p>
<p>When he was young, when things were better, his mother sometimes took him away on weekends. Especially when Father was away on business trips. There was a horse ranch she owned, tucked away in a little pocket of hills and forest, removed from the city enough that there was plenty of space for trails and riding. Even after the divorce, Mother had kept that up, but once she died... Xander had missed it, the retreat, the simplicity of caring for horses. Their wants are, he finds, profoundly uncomplicated. </p>
<p>He had only learned she left it to him years after the fact, and it's a small miracle that lapse hadn't taken it out of his hands entirely. It is his now, that place, and he slips away when he dares, otherwise leaving it in the hands of hands he trusts. Now is one of those times he dares. </p>
<p>The drive up doesn't do much to clear his head. He knows the route well enough he could do it in his sleep, and the roads aren't very busy at this hour, a saving grace to his lack of focus. Much of the trip he sleepwalks through, from drive to parking to keys to barn, and he really <em>feels</em> what he's doing only when he has his hands on tack, when the mingling scents of leather and oil and metal and horse are rich in his nose.</p>
<p>He thinks about taking his gloves off — for the tactile sensations, because he <em>can</em> — but there is a chill in the air tonight, as the weather turns to autumn. He'll want them anyway, for the reins and the warmth. </p>
<p>The barn is full of quiet sounds. Xander catalogues them as he goes. There's the rustling of horses through hay, the whisper of one of the barn cats brushing by his ankles. Something up in the rafters <em>whoos</em> reproachfully. No people, not at this hour, not with the moon high overhead and the sun long since gone. Tension goes out of Xander with each sound he identifies.</p>
<p>A lean black horse meets him at the door of her stall, ears already pricked forward with interest. Already Xander softens on seeing her. "You'll come out with me, won't you?" he murmurs. He doesn't really expect a response; Brocade is a canny horse, certainly, but like any horse incapable of speech. It's foolishness to speak to them with anything but the key words they recognize.</p>
<p>Xander reminds himself of this, and then does so anyway. "It might be a longer ride," he says, steps into the stall to saddle her up. Brocade submits to this easily, long accustomed to this pattern. "You don't usually mind that, though."</p>
<p>She says nothing to this, either, but the tone of his voice has her curving her neck around to eye him with further interest.</p>
<p>So: out of the barn, and into the night. Xander has a little light hung from the saddle, and between that and the lighting on the grounds they manage well enough. Brocade has a sure foot to her delicate stride, and the trust between them has been built over long months. She'll carry him as well as she can.</p>
<p>The first trail is lit clearly by the low glow of solar-powered lamps, still charged from the day's light. Xander follows this as far out as it goes. Brocade's careful rhythm and the chill of the night both help to clear and settle him, in their way, but it's far too soon to turn back. And the moon is bright above: full, or close to it. </p>
<p>Improbably, Xander feels the wild urge to run, and simply run, as far as his legs or Brocade's can carry him. He reins her in, looks between the known ground and the further woods.</p>
<p>After all, he does know this land. Brocade turns at his knee, obliging, and starts out, weaving between trees where Xander indicates. It isn't the wisest idea. Perhaps he <em>should</em> turn back. But it's here, now, as far as he can be from everything else, that Xander finally feels like he can relax. </p>
<p>Something big and dark lunges out of the trees, and Brocade rears, calm shattered. Xander's heart leaps into his throat — he keeps hold of her by dint of thighs alone, barely.</p>
<p>Is that a <em>wolf?</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>More chapters upcoming this week, as I get them edited. Thanks for reading, and hope you stick around for this ride! </p>
<p>Pardon any mild inaccuracies, please. Research was done eighteen months ago.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. wolf alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: animal danger.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma had said the existence of a scent-bond wasn't going to be a problem.</p>
<p>And it isn't a problem, especially if he doesn't count the dreams as a problem.</p>
<p>And it's not like they're bad dreams.</p>
<p>Frankly, by all standards they're very good dreams, all full of heat and ecstasy. Sometimes Ryoma wakes convinced he has just been in some sunlit clearing with his lover's face pressed into his furred side. This is all very pleasant, if maybe a little melancholy when he realizes it hasn't happened in truth. None of this is, strictly, a problem.</p>
<p>It's just that the lover in his dreams continues to be Xander König, and the dreams do keep happening, and Ryoma has had to change his sheets every night for a week and a half straight, which is beginning to frustrate. The only thing that's changed with time passing is that, as the moon waxes again, Ryoma is more likely to have moments of wolf in his dreams. The man opposite him does not change; the images remain vivid.</p>
<p>He's still just as bad an idea.</p>
<p>Two and a half weeks in, Ryoma gives up on sleep entirely in favor of going running. The night is chill and refreshing. Four-legged, wolf-form, there are a hundred hundred things to hear and smell and taste and potentially roll in. It makes for good distraction, takes up most if not all of his mind. The dreams are further off.</p>
<p>So Ryoma runs. He doesn't really mark where, only follows the most interesting scents. This is the best meditation, truly, motion and earth and wind. When he pauses he scrapes up dirt curiously, to see what he'll find, and when the leaf litter is suitably turned and the scents stirred up he takes off again. On the whole, it's a thoroughly agreeable way to spend a night.</p>
<p>Until he hears hoofbeats.</p>
<p>Horse might be fine alone, maybe. But there is the jingle of tack and metal fittings, and the pack does not trust men on horseback not to be hunters.</p>
<p>It's only one, though. Ryoma settles down where he is, all movement arrested but the prick of his ears, pointed forward to listen. If he's still enough, between his brown and the bushes and the dirt, he'll be harder to see.</p>
<p>Then the wind shifts.</p>
<p>Horse and sweat and metal and leather and earth in the sun and cedar and warm life heartbeat--</p>
<p>Something in Ryoma wrenches. He lunges up without conscious input, breaking through some low-hung branches and sticking some in his fur. He doesn't care. </p>
<p>Warring instincts twine. He needs to go bury his nose in that scent; he needs the hunter gone, the danger away from what's his. Ryoma doesn't know which way is up.</p>
<p>The wolf charges toward the horse.</p>
<p>Neither horse nor rider expects a full-grown wolf barreling out of the underbrush. He doesn't, can't stop, instead aims nips at saddle, at ankles as he passes by and circles around again. The horse rears, legs flailing and eye-whites showing. The rider holds tight.</p>
<p>Ryoma-wolf, storm-chasing-wolf, snarls and lunges in at an angle. When the horse lands he is there, and it rears again, unsteadier, turning. He harries it, pressing until the rider swears.</p>
<p>The third time he lunges in at its belly, the horse bucks, rear legs lashing out. Ryoma moves in time, but the horse has had enough of everything and capers wildly, no longer sanguine about the weight on its back.</p>
<p>The rider hits the ground hard. The horse bolts. The wolf's driving panic recedes. Now there is not a hunter. No horse, no weapon to stink of burning, only his lovely summertime scent.</p>
<p>...The potential mate isn't moving. Suddenly worried again, Ryoma paces over to shove his nose in the man's face. He inhales deeply once, then more delicately— no, no scent of blood. A pause to listen reveals breath and heartbeat, though the former is a touch shallow.</p>
<p>Perhaps just stunned. Ryoma diligently licks his face over, satisfying his concerns and issuing wake-up call all at once.</p>
<p>The lovely-scent man wakes before Ryoma can do a second wash. Dazedly he tries to shove the wolf out of his face-- Ryoma leans into his hand, pleased. Then his eyes open wide, and he goes very still as his heart starts pounding.</p>
<p>Scared. Why? He's the best person. Ryoma's hardly going to start chewing on him.</p>
<p>For good measure he licks the man's nose, then his own. Endearingly, the man goes cross-eyed to follow his tongue.</p>
<p>It sinks in belatedly that the man with the perfect sundirt napping scent does not actually know that Ryoma is his, only that there is a wolf. Ryoma whines faintly at this realization, but he backs off a pace and sits down. His tail thumps rapidly without his input at all.</p>
<p>He waits there. It's very hard. More than once he almost forgets why he's waiting. Heroically, the wolf stays put, only disturbing the earth with widening sweeps of his tail.  Finally the man sits up, watching Ryoma. The wolf shifts on the spot, whines again.</p>
<p>The man has a name, doesn't he? It's one Ryoma should know. Maybe it'll come to him when his nose isn't full of summertime and rich earth.</p>
<p>"What in the world...?"</p>
<p>Ryoma's ears prick toward the voice again, but he doesn't have any concept of how to answer that. In hope he scoots a bit toward the man.</p>
<p>The man presses a hand to his forehead, makes a face that might be pain. Ryoma-wolf inches even closer, until the man goes still and wary.</p>
<p>Ryoma whines yet again, and then finally fails to contain himself, leans in to lick over the spot the man was touching. He's very careful about his teeth.</p>
<p>"You're too big to be a dog," the man says dazedly. Ryoma doesn't have any way to answer this either, but he detours thoughtfully to lick the man's mouth until he splutters and pushes Ryoma out of his face.</p>
<p>That's better. People don't protest gently when they're scared. Ryoma noses the man's chest instead, idly investigating. Under the overwhelming sun-drunk sweetness of his scent there is horse and rust – ew – and something Ryoma can't quite place, something that tingles in his nose and makes him sneeze.</p>
<p>"If you're that offended by my scent, perhaps you shouldn't have spooked my horse."</p>
<p>There's a sigh. Ryoma ignores the words that don't make sense and starts sniffing over the man's hands instead. They're broad but gloved, and the leather-and-dye scent is strong in Ryoma's nose. He likes the shape of them. They'd probably feel nice buried in his ruff.</p>
<p>"I'm talking to a wolf."</p>
<p>This is true. Ryoma gives the gloved hand a cursory lick, watches fingers flex, and drops his chin into the empty palm. The man breathes sharply in.</p>
<p>"You're very affectionate," he says, and it's a little wondering. Yes. Yes. Ryoma chuffs a pleased little exhalation, and he feels the man's hand move, slow and careful, eventually scraping a lovely firm stroke along the long bone of his jaw.</p>
<p>Mmmmmm yes.</p>
<p>"Did you escape from somewhere?"</p>
<p>Hinoka's tender mercies, mostly. Ryoma angles his head to get the stroking hand into the thick dense fur that protects his neck, and he graciously allows it when the man reaches for an ear with his free hand. There are delicate touches and tugs – Ryoma's ears flicker with pointed force when this gets too annoying, but the man keeps on, gently determined like he's looking for something. First one ear, then the other. At least he doesn't stop the other strokes, or Ryoma might have had to take some exception.</p>
<p>Finally the man stops. "No tattoo or notch," he says, wondering. "Were you at a wildlife sanctuary? Is someone tracking you for science?"</p>
<p>There's a pause. Ryoma leans on his hand, eyes his legs. There's almost a lap.</p>
<p>"I don't know why I'm asking like you'll answer me." The man shakes his head, draws his legs up to fold them.</p>
<p>Better. Ryoma takes a step and aims his shoulder at the lap, rolling himself into it and brushing as much of himself as he can along the man's legs. Legs and hips are good. A lap is full of scent, and Ryoma wants this one on him, all over him.</p>
<p>The man grunts with surprise and the force of the sudden weight of wolf on his legs. Ryoma is too busy reveling to really care. He rolls and shifts and finally settles where he's most comfortable, paws in the air and belly exposed.</p>
<p>This would be a bad idea if it was anyone else. But it isn't anyone else. This is his lovely sunlit clearing, and so obviously all is well and safe.</p>
<p>He's proven right when hands sink into the fur of his belly. Ryoma sighs heavily, content, and his paws automatically fold over and around the arm. His now.</p>
<p>How wonderful.</p>
<p>Some several minutes pass in this easy bliss. When the lap stirs, Ryoma makes a whiny complaint in the back of his throat. This is nice. Why can't they just stay here until the sun comes up?</p>
<p>There's low incredulous laughter into his fur. "You are not the fearsome predator I envisioned."</p>
<p>This is rude. Ryoma is plenty fearsome. He would lift a lip to demonstrate, but he's in a lap and that would also be rude. He huffs instead.</p>
<p>"I need to get up, wolf. It's late, and my horse is— I don't know where."</p>
<p>And yet, his hands are still on Ryoma's belly. Ryoma doesn't think he's serious about getting up, and radiates a smug satisfaction to match. There is a long pause.</p>
<p>"I don't know why I keep expecting you to understand me," the man mutters. "All right. Not that I don't appreciate you not eating me— but off."</p>
<p>This last is said very firmly, and the hands on his belly turn to hands pushing at his shoulder. Ryoma thinks about resisting for a moment or two— but while he thinks about the options, slowly unearthing a different set of instincts than the ones currently driving him, he is moved some significant ways without his realization.</p>
<p>He's impressed. Impressed enough with the display of strength that he doesn't fight the rest of the shove, instead rolling over and to his feet. He shakes himself, and some few leaves go flying. There's still a branch from earlier stuck in the vicinity of his tail. Ryoma turns on the spot, curving carefully to get at it with his teeth, but he misses. Once, twice, and his body isn't quite long enough.</p>
<p>He circles once more, tries one more time, and is again disappointed. It'll just have to stay for the night, but that's fine. He'll have thumbs again eventually.</p>
<p>With the thought in the direction of human form comes other thoughts. The last time he smelled this wonderful scent, for example. And while he isn't about to be human-shaped any time soon, for he remembers that this man doesn't <em>know</em>, he remembers also that this man is named Xander.</p>
<p>It's much less evocative than his scent is, but humans like simple syllables for names. There are other things Ryoma remembers, but they aren't very important right now.</p>
<p>"Here," Xander says, from somewhere near his flank, and Ryoma twists his head around to watch. Slow and gentle Xander approaches him, and lays soft hands on, and detangles the branch from his fur.</p>
<p>Careful and thoughtful and sweet. Ryoma circles all the way around again so he can lift his front legs up, brace a paw on Xander's shoulder and lick his face.</p>
<p>Xander splutters. "You're welcome," he manages, steps a pace back. Ryoma lets him, drops back to the ground.</p>
<p>For moments stretching out wolf and man just look at each other. Ryoma's tail doesn't stop moving; Xander barely breathes.</p>
<p>It's him who breaks the impasse, shaking his head and turning. "I can't stay out here all night. My horse..." He stops mid-stride, looking this way and that, and Ryoma tries not to be too smug that there is no sign of the horse.</p>
<p>...He is very smug that he scared the horse off so thoroughly. If he works at it, he might be able to figure out which way it went, but he's not inclined to.</p>
<p>"Damn," Xander says softly, with feeling.</p>
<p>Ryoma wanders up to him again, leaning into his side, and Xander sets a hesitant hand on his shoulder. The speed of his tail increases a hair.</p>
<p>"I suppose there's nothing for it," Xander says eventually, and starts walking. Ryoma genuinely can't tell if there's some rhyme or reason to the direction he's picked, but he goes along anyway, pacing him easily. Walking together is nice.</p>
<p>Not as nice as naps and sunlight and belly rubs, but it will do for now.</p>
<p>As they pace each other in quiet, Ryoma has some little time to think. Xander is human. He has a coat, but the winds are chiller than they were a month ago, and there has already been some crunching brown given by trees to the earth below.</p>
<p>How well can humans see in the dark? Ryoma isn't sure. He's never had all that much trouble. He starts nudging Xander away from trees anyway, just in case. There are one or two aggrieved sighs at this which Ryoma completely ignores.</p>
<p>Shelter. Shelter is probably what comes next. Humans see better in the daytime, like horses. So, in the mean time, somewhere warmer. The wolf is decently proud of this line of thought. He sticks with Xander a little further, then prances off a short distance.</p>
<p>Ryoma knows these woods. If he can get Xander to follow, there's a nice boulder with a fallen tree.</p>
<p>Xander doesn't want to follow. He watches, waves, and keeps going the same way he had been.</p>
<p>Ugh. Stubborn human.</p>
<p>But he smells nice, so Ryoma can forgive it. He circles back, comes up on the other side of Xander and leans heavily until Xander staggers, off-balance but aimed in the direction Ryoma wants.</p>
<p>Xander attempts to go the other way once he has his balance again; Ryoma sighs and shoulders him again.</p>
<p>It takes a full three repetitions of this before Xander actually starts moving in the direction Ryoma is trying to herd him. Finally. Finally. Ryoma kicks up his paws as he falls into pacing alongside Xander again, a pleased little jubilance which earns a quiet laugh from his companion.</p>
<p>"I'm still half-convinced I'm dreaming, you know," he tells Ryoma quietly.</p>
<p>Ryoma marks that his human has no concept of the potential for duality of spirit and sighs heavily yet again. Improbably, this makes Xander's face crease.</p>
<p>"Don't be like that. I'm making an effort." In the moment after, he seems as startled as Ryoma feels. Again they stare at each other for a long few moments.</p>
<p>"I don't know why I said that," Xander admits. Perhaps he's still grappling with the idea that he's speaking to a wolf. Ryoma flicks his ears and moves on.</p>
<p>The next time he has to change Xander's direction, it only takes one try.</p>
<p>He remembered well enough where the rock formation he was thinking of is. He's napped there before, in warmer weather, at his leisure, and it's sheltering enough; the tree is an addition of a season or two past.</p>
<p>"I see," Xander murmurs, as Ryoma nudges him at the boulder. "I will admit, I was hoping for my horse."</p>
<p>Ryoma, as he is great and magnanimous, will pretend he didn't hear that. He flops down in the makeshift shelter, looking expectant at Xander.</p>
<p>Xander hesitates. He looks up at the sky, at the near-full moon and the vast canopy of trees. Finally he sighs and comes to settle down near Ryoma, not quite touching. "I suppose there's little I can do on foot in the dark."</p>
<p>Yes. Yes, that's right. Ryoma scoots toward him, not getting up, and stops when they're just barely touching. He doesn't know how to be any clearer about this invitation.</p>
<p>Gingerly, Xander adjusts his seat and leans into Ryoma. "Are you sure you're a wild wolf?"</p>
<p>Wild is a subjective term. Ryoma lets out a long content sigh at the weight against him, searches for a good place to rest his chin. Eventually, after some testing of forest floor and paws, Ryoma curves himself around to drop his chin on Xander's thigh.</p>
<p>He might doze off a little. Only a little.</p>
<p>At some point a hand comes to rest on his head, and even the sudden thump of his tail is inadequate to express how wonderful a thing this is.</p>
<p>He drifts in and out for a little while— time is mostly a human concern. Eventually, when the moon has moved a little, he's roused by a low rumbling from right beside his ear. Ryoma flicks that ear, lifts his head to sniff curiously.</p>
<p>There it is again. He looks at the source – stomach. Then up, at Xander's face, which is slightly shaded. "Yes," he says with a sigh. "That was me."</p>
<p>Ryoma noses him consideringly, then puts his head down again. What can he feed a human...?</p>
<p>Xander moves, causing some further close observation, but he's only digging in a pocket. He comes out with something that crinkles loudly and smells vaguely like it might be edible, and also something flat and black. Both of these things also obviously need sniffing over until Xander pushes his head away so he can unwrap the food. It doesn't look like much – just a little bar – but it seems to settle him for now. Ryoma is decently sure a rabbit would serve him better, and keeps his ears alert, just in case there's something nearby.</p>
<p>The flat black thing gets some poking and some swearing out of Xander. He has only the most quiet and dignified of curses, which is endearing beyond all measure. Finally: "Battery must be dead. I hope it's only that."</p>
<p>Ryoma belatedly identifies it as a phone, and can't bring himself to be too concerned. He heaves a pointed sigh instead, adjusting the set of his chin, and eventually the hand returns to his head. Yes. That's much nicer.</p>
<p>Attention wanders. Ryoma is heartily content, and it is difficult to care much about the rest of the forest right now. He tries to stay a little vigilant at least – it will be poor courtship if he can't feed or protect his future mate. Potential future mate.</p>
<p>"I hope you realize, this whole thing makes no sense," Xander muses aloud. It's slow, perhaps drowsy. "Why charge and then stop? Shouldn't horses be prey to you? Why am I granted clemency and Brocade chased off?"</p>
<p>He earns himself an interested ear flick from Ryoma. There's a soft laugh.</p>
<p>"And you're smart, but also alone. I didn't think most wolves went far from their packs."</p>
<p>They do if they're courting an out-pack mate, or if their little sisters are especially annoying.</p>
<p>"And opinionated," Xander adds thoughtfully.</p>
<p>Excuse him. Ryoma lifts his head only so he can drop it heavily, pointedly, onto Xander's thigh again.</p>
<p>"My point exactly." Xander laughs again, the same soft sound. Ryoma wants more of those. "You don't act entirely like a wild thing, sir wolf. If nothing else, you understand my tone, and you seem to be trying to look after me."</p>
<p>This last sounds wistful. There's yet another pause, during which Ryoma lets his eyes drift shut further. Warmth and contentedness suffuse him.</p>
<p>"Are you a sir?" Xander wonders aloud with some mild concern. "I didn't look earlier."</p>
<p>Ryoma huffs loudly and with feeling. With <em>that</em> attitude he's not about to belly-up to prove it, no matter how nice Xander smells.</p>
<p>"I mean no offense," Xander says peaceably, stroking along the curve of Ryoma's head. "Sir wolf it is, then." Under his touch, Ryoma subsides agreeably.</p>
<p>He drifts in the half-aware state between rest and wariness. He's aware of every shift and errant sound from Xander; he's aware of everything shifting out in the woods, pricks his ears up and slits his eyes open at anything more than a twig's shift. Nothing is going to happen on his watch.</p>
<p>The leg under his chin is so very warm, and Xander's scent wraps around him comfortingly. In between the peace, where Ryoma's mind drifts, it's easy to think of pushing his nose some less polite places, of rolling in the scent and investigating every possible inch of him.</p>
<p>Ryoma ignores this impulse, because underneath it all he is a gentleman, or tries to be, and his mate – his potential mate – has made no especial reciprocating signals.</p>
<p>All the same, his scent from this angle is overwhelming. Reluctantly, Ryoma shifts his head so his nose is pointed aside. He can't quite help the low whine, all the same.</p>
<p>Maybe in the morning, he can take Xander home to his pack.</p>
<p>The hand on his head strokes, settling. "Easy," Xander murmurs. "Nothing to whine about."</p>
<p>Yes there is. But it's all right. Even if things aren't correct now. Ryoma can bring him good meat and the flighty birds no one else in the pack can catch. He will demonstrate what an excellent provider he is, Xander will be suitably impressed and stop being so horse-friendly, and <em>then</em> they can join scents. Among other things.</p>
<p>Thus reassured, Ryoma settles some more, and drifts back off in the best company.</p>
<p>When he wakes properly again, it's because the moon has set and early light touches the sky. Xander's scent is still strong in Ryoma's nose, but with the sun rising he is more firmly in control of himself. He is also suddenly, terribly embarrassed. He truly thought he had better control than that.</p>
<p>Hinoka is never going to let him hear the end of this. Never.</p>
<p>But for the moment, she isn't here. Ryoma doesn't stir, taking advantage of this closeness for as long as the moment will stretch out. He's pretty sure this can't possibly happen, human-form. It may not even happen again in this manner.</p>
<p>Staying like this is probably at least a little dishonest, if he's truthful with himself. And yet...</p>
<p>Just a little longer.</p>
<p>The sun creeps higher. When Xander stirs it is because the angled rays have fallen across his face. Ryoma still doesn't move, only watches as all this happens. Xander shades his eyes against the light, and straightens up, looks around. Finally his attention comes back to Ryoma. "...You're still here."</p>
<p>Ryoma's tail thumps once, an involuntary response to the sound of Xander's voice.</p>
<p>"I wondered if I dreamed..." Xander shakes his head, and starts to get up. Reluctantly, Ryoma moves to let him up.</p>
<p>Xander stretches stiffly, checks his phone again and shakes his head again the same way, vaguely resigned. He pats his pockets down, comes up with nothing.</p>
<p>Ryoma himself stretches out, forward and back all long and luxurious, finishing up with a thorough shake to settle his fur. When he's done he looks up to find Xander watching him again.</p>
<p>"I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me find my horse, now that it's light."</p>
<p>Ryoma's lips twitch. He manages not to display his teeth at the mention of horse. It's true that Xander at least needs out of these woods. What's he doing in them in the first place, anyway? Ryoma doesn't have a good way to ask that question. There <em>is</em> a horse ranch further west, he knows, out where the reserve technically ends, but they're somewhat beyond the trails they use, and no hint of the scent boundaries here.</p>
<p>Slowly, grudgingly, Ryoma starts sniffing about for horse. He aims himself west, sniffs air and earth, paces zigzag instead of making a straight beeline. If nothing else eventually they'll find the ranch's land.</p>
<p>Xander follows him. More than once Ryoma, reluctant, has to turn away, putting himself upwind of Xander so he doesn't have a nose full of utter distraction. It's terribly slow going. Especially since Ryoma keeps looking back to make sure Xander is still following him. Every check involves an extra hesitation over the sun gleaming gold in his hair.</p>
<p>"I'm still here," Xander says, the fourth or fifth time.</p>
<p>Ryoma appreciates this reassurance, but all the same he doesn't stop checking.</p>
<p>In the end it's Xander who realizes they're on familiar ground. He makes a surprised noise, brushes past Ryoma to a specific tree. There's nothing caught in it, no lingering scent, but there's a broken-off branch. An older wound, but a notable one. "I think I know this tree."</p>
<p>Patiently Ryoma watches him turn on the spot, seeking further familiarity, and eventually Xander starts moving, hesitant and a little more north than west. Dubious Ryoma follows, but Xander's strides grow more confident. He keeps moving, and before too long a trail comes clear, a path traveled over and marked with horse dung and little solar-powered lights.</p>
<p>At the edge of this trail Xander pauses, hand on one of the trees, and looks back at Ryoma, who is steadfastly refusing to approach the horse poop too closely. "I know where I am now, thank you," he says politely.</p>
<p>Ryoma sits down.</p>
<p>Xander offers a short and courtly bow. "I appreciate your help, sir wolf. Even if you did unhorse me in the first place."</p>
<p>Rude. Ryoma excuses it for now.</p>
<p>And that's that, it seems. Xander turns, starts walking along the trail. Ryoma watches a little longer from where he is, then gets up, starts following. Just in case, he rationalizes. He doesn't step onto the trail, only parallels it.</p>
<p>Some several paces along, Xander turns around and frowns at him. "What is it?"</p>
<p>Again, now that they've stopped, Ryoma sits.</p>
<p>Xander waves an arm at him as though throwing something. "Go home, sir wolf."</p>
<p>Ryoma doesn't move.</p>
<p>"It isn't good for wolves to be around humans," Xander says, and there's a wistfulness that makes Ryoma wonder. "Go home."</p>
<p>This time, when Xander turns to go, Ryoma doesn't follow him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun fact: the moon calendar I wound up referencing for most of this fic is from 2016. Later years just didn't have full moons where I wanted them. Could I have just handwaved the whole thing? ...Probably, but it was fun to reference.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. wtf, sir wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brocade is already back at the ranch, waiting for him near the boundaries. Xander wonders if he's imagining the reproachful look from her. He did rather take a while about coming back, after all— he's been out, now, all night.</p><p>She shies the first time he tries to snag her reins. Xander pauses at first, uncertain, but— ah, it must simply be that he smells of wolf. He approaches more slowly, makes sure she can see him coming and that there are no sudden movements, and this time there is success.</p><p>Coming out of the woods feels like emerging from a dream.</p><p>There are two stablehands in the barn already, as Xander untacks Brocade and rubs her down. They don't ignore him, per se, but his occasional odd comings and goings are known, and no longer remarked on.</p><p>A wolf. There was a wolf.</p><p>He pats Brocade absently when she nudges at him. His mind isn't really with her, but the routines of taking care of her are old and ingrained.</p><p>He should have taken his gloves off. How many times, in life, does one get the chance to pet a wolf, let alone so thoroughly, and for so long? How soft would such a coat be?</p><p>—Father has at least one pelt, Xander remembers, and his stomach turns and twists, and he bends forward a little, pressing his forehead against Brocade's steady warm neck. She patiently bears it, and Xander closes his eyes and breathes there until he has mastered himself.</p><p>Anywhere else it would be an unforgivable lapse.</p><p>It's hard to connect the strangely cuddly beast of last night with the very few hunts he had accompanied his father on. He remembers those best in impressions, rather than moment by moment — the night they saved Corrin is still clear enough. The sheer size of the wolf, twice again the size of anything else Xander had ever seen; the flash of teeth and the high-pitched scream of the toddler she had been—</p><p>Xander tries not to think about that hunt, for all that their family gained something wonderful from it. There are a myriad of reasons not to, not least that every time he thinks it over the details go wrong, somehow, twisting out of his mental grasp. He can’t remember who Corrin reached for, or when the distant storm had hit... but it was, after all, a long time ago.</p><p>He hauls his mind out of these recollections. The wolf of last night had been smaller than that, certainly not hostile, and definitely not carrying off a child. And social to humans, too. Do wolves normally act like this? Should he be concerned, that there's such a bold wolf in the forest near the ranch?</p><p>The more he thinks over these things, the more it comes clear he doesn't know enough. Xander hesitates outside the barn, face turned up toward the long low lodging-house up the hill. His room there is bare, but it is his, and does not need much caution. But the sun is higher in the sky now, and neither does Xander wish to have much attention drawn to the fact he has, perhaps, not been where he is expected at home.</p><p>In the end he stops only briefly, to look through the safe in the office for a copy of the papers regarding the ranch's ownership. Even in copy, the contract signed with the management of the nearby nature reserve stands out, though Xander perhaps couldn't say why if asked. What he knows is that it comes immediately to his hand when he looks for it, and he runs down the list of terms.</p><p>It's an odd one, as contracts go. There isn’t a lot of legal speech – it’s more on the order of guidelines for tenancy rather than terms of conditions. Despite the fact he’s pretty sure the ranch only borders the reserve, isn’t actually on the land. But it's roughly the same agreement his mother had signed, and while Xander had scrutinized it over and over when it was offered him, he couldn't ultimately find anything to object to. Be kind to the land and think of the future of the world seem the guiding principles.</p><p>There <em>is</em> a clause that specifies no hunting shall take place on their lands, but that was easy to agree to, and Xander wouldn't want to hunt this wolf anyway. He only wants to know what is best for people, horses, and wolf, and he will admit he has insufficient knowledge right now.</p><p>And a nature reserve seems like a good place to tell him more, in kindness to the wild rather than human concerns.</p><p>His phone is still dead. Xander glances down at the signatories. His own name isn't there – he had used an attorney as proxy, which had been permitted on one condition. The other signer had asked only that he provide enough blood to make his mark, as proof of his sincerity, and as a result there is still a deep red blot on the original.</p><p>He's looked at this a hundred-odd times, he's sure, and the other name always seems to wiggle out of his memory before very long. He looks again, tries to fix it in his mind. Mikoto Morimoto. Surely he can remember that much over the short span it takes to get to his car and plug his phone in.</p><p>Xander seals this back in the safe and goes.</p><p>In the front seat he turns the car on, wrangles the phone charger into functioning. A solid minute or three passes before it turns on, and Xander searches for—</p><p>He swears he just remembered the name. It started with an M, he thinks?</p><p>Nothing comes to mind, and he really does need to go. Xander resolves that even without a name, he can research the reserve again, and any of the local shelters or rehabilitation centers ought to be able to tell him more about wolves on the basic level. For now he needs to go home.</p><p>He hopes Father is still busy. He hopes his absence hasn't been noted. Paradoxically, Xander wishes at the same time it would be.</p><p>On the way he stops briefly at the grocery store, only for some of the peculiar little rice-dumpling ice cream treats Corrin loves. It is an excuse and an attempt to salve his buried family-longing all in one.</p><p>The house is still and quiet when he returns, just as it was when he left. Xander has been too long at this to have hopes raised, but the emotion that draws his shoulders down is not all relief, either. His steps are light up to his room.</p><p>Leaning on a wolf in the woods does not, perhaps, provide the most restful sleep, but Xander’s energized enough to be getting on with, and so he settles in to research instead of napping. A name that might begin with M will get him nowhere— he scans through wildlife refuges and nature reserves, and no name of quite the same quality jumps out at him. Even the one he knows is the one that borders his ranch has no convenient listing of personnel, presenting only a tidy impersonal front. Email contact, no phone. Worth a shot. Xander makes a note and keeps looking.</p><p>What of clinics for wild animals? Further research locates the closest wildlife shelter — it borders the refuge, and has the charmingly generic name of South County Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. Their website has some FAQ, mostly regarding birds and squirrels. No, birds don't have a great sense of smell. Don't assume babies have been abandoned unless you go a full 48 hours without seeing parents. Yes, the big gray squirrels are an invasive species. No, coyotes will not eat your baby, but that's not an excuse to leave your child unattended in the wilderness. Xander can imagine the longsuffering person typing these things, and how many times they must have gotten each question.</p><p>There are no frequently asked questions about wolves. </p><p>Xander clicks around a little while longer — finds their address, operating hours, a map. A contact number. </p><p>The house is still too empty, too quiet. </p><p>No one picks up at the rehabilitation center, but the voicemail recording sounds— familiar. Xander can't place why, not quite. Maybe someone he's met before, or overheard distantly. Maybe it's simply one of those voices. All the same, with a message left he has nothing to do but wait for a call back. </p><p>He pet a wolf today. He probably shouldn't have, but he did, and he doesn't regret it.</p><p>Fixing the sensory memory firmly, Xander goes about the rest of the day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>2x update today, since this one's a bit short.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. sorry, mom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> It's nearly midday by the time Ryoma gets home, tugs open the wolf-friendly entrance on the ground floor and pads softly up to his room. He avoids as many people as possible, gets only a passing confused look from a visiting Setsuna. That's fine. Setsuna won't ask. </p><p>She might tell Hinoka, though.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't care right now. Sleeping alert for danger isn't nearly as restful as sleeping safe. He shifts human for the better layer of control over his instincts, takes a few staggering steps, and faceplants into bed.</p><p>Yet again, his dreams are full of Xander's scent, Xander's form in the sunlight. Perhaps this is just how things must be. Perhaps he'll get used to it.</p><p>Three things happen in quick succession:</p><p>First, cloth lands over top of him, thrown by someone at the door. Ryoma stirs at this, drawn disoriented out of dreams.</p><p>Second, the person at the door uncorks something and tosses it onto the bed near him. The scent hits Ryoma's nose a bare few seconds later, makes his eyes water with the overwhelming sharpness of menthol. He yelps, springs up and away from the offending thing.</p><p>Third, in Ryoma's flight from the offending scent, the cloth tossed over him falls away. The draft from the door sweeps across his bare form. Hinoka squawks something scandalized and lunges back into the hall; Ryoma opts to cover his mouth and nose instead of anything more private. Hinoka flings the vial's cap at his head and slams the door.</p><p>This, Ryoma feels, is her fault.</p><p>Breathing shallowly, he collects the cap, locates the tiny culprit, and seals the vial. The next order of business is to open the window and hang his head out of it for a minute. As a bonus – or perhaps the opposite – the sharpness has cleared out all trace of Xander's scent. Ryoma's mind is very clear, and no little bit grumpy.</p><p>Hinoka pounds at the door. "Put the damn robe on and let me in, I need to talk to you."</p><p>"Since when have you cared," Ryoma tosses back, but he does step down from the window and take up the robe.</p><p>"Wolf night, whatever. Sex dreams, absolutely not." Hinoka thumps the door again for good measure.</p><p>Ryoma blushes very faintly. He hadn't realized.</p><p>When he opens the door he's decent. Hinoka takes a second or two to make sure of this, looking him up and down, then shoves past him, pulling the door shut behind her. </p><p>The next thing she produces is her phone. Ryoma can't say he has any idea where this is going, so he waits for Hinoka to find what she's looking for and get to explaining. He hunts for a loose hair tie on his desk in the meantime.</p><p>"Here it is," Hinoka mutters, and looks up. "Okay. I had a... fun voicemail left at South County today." The South County wildlife rehabilitation centre is nominally Hinoka’s; she's there nearly half her free time, especially when birds get brought in. "I think you're going to be interested in this one."</p><p>Ryoma observes with a polite curiosity as Hinoka brings up the sound file in question. This quickly turns to alarm as he recognizes, even though the speaker's distortion, a familiar, pleasantly deep voice.</p><p>"Ah, hello. I'm wondering if you can tell me if your center has ever treated wolves? Or, do you know if there's a pack in the area? I'm, ah, interested in learning more about the role of wolves in our ecosystem from a firsthand source."</p><p>He goes on to leave his contact information. Ryoma stares blankly at Hinoka's phone.</p><p>"So," she says. "Do you happen to have any idea why Xander König is asking after human-socialized wolves with the flimsiest excuse I've heard since the arrow in the dining room incident?"</p><p>"Um," Ryoma says.</p><p>Hinoka is not impressed.</p><p>Ryoma sits on the edge of the bed, rubs at his eyes for a moment or two. "I couldn't sleep," he says. "I went for a run. Out west. I wasn't aiming to be near humans. He was out riding-- off-trail, at midnight." Who does that.</p><p>"So this can in no way be your fault, huh," Hinoka says. She drops down next to Ryoma, nudges his shoulder with hers. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Tell me everything you've got."</p><p>Slowly, reluctantly, Ryoma tells her all that's passed over the last day.</p><p>"No wonder you still look tired," Hinoka says when he's done, and prods him in the cheek for punctuation. "Seriously? <em>Sir wolf</em>?"</p><p>"He was a gentleman," Ryoma says, pained. "Right down to 'it isn't good for wolves to be around humans.' And that was him unguarded, more or less. He had no reason to believe me anything more than a mundane wolf."</p><p>"You really think he doesn't know?" Hinoka asks. She flops backward to stretch out on his bed. Ryoma turns his head, watches her frown vaguely at the ceiling.</p><p>"Listen to the voicemail again," Ryoma says. "If you still doubt it. That's something he couldn't have been sure either of us would ever hear."</p><p>Hinoka doesn't bother replaying it, only sighs gustily. "I kind of tried to pick a fight with him," she admits. "At the party."</p><p>"Hinoka." Ryoma doesn't have to try to hit 'disappointed older brother' tones. "I thought you were the one telling me to be careful."</p><p>She squirms, rolls over to hide her face. "I was," she says into his blanket. "He was just— there. I lost my temper."</p><p>Ryoma ruffles up the short fluff at the back of her head. "And?"</p><p>"Ugh," she says, and sits up, wrinkling her nose as she turns to face him. "He was polite. Just excused himself all 'apologies for the offense my face has caused you.'"</p><p>"Is that actually what he said?" Ryoma wants to know.</p><p>Hinoka shrugs offhandedly. "Something like that. I thought he was making fun of me."</p><p>They sit there a few moments, each turning over the idea that Xander might be what he appears to be, might be sincere and genuine. It's peculiar. Ryoma finds it hopeful.</p><p>"Someone's going to have to answer the message," Ryoma says at length. </p><p>"I don't think it should be you." Hinoka frowns a little more. "You're not going to be able to think straight around him until you get used to his scent, right, and you'll have to spend time around him being stupid in order to get used to it. Both of those are really bad plans."</p><p>"I know," Ryoma says morosely. "There's little way around those issues. Realistically, there's not much of a way to pursue anything with him."</p><p>"But?"</p><p>Of course she hears the <em>but</em> he didn't say. "But I don't want to simply write him off," Ryoma admits. "Scent aside— he's kind. Thoughtful. Handsome—"</p><p>"Spare me, please," Hinoka interrupts, shoving absently at his shoulder.</p><p>Ryoma edits around the rest of the good things about Xander to come to his other point. "And if there's anyone who would know something of his father – or be able to look into certain things without suspicion – wouldn't it be him?"</p><p>Hinoka regards him for a long quiet moment. "That'd work better if you weren't drunk on his scent every time you see him," she says. "Which will take time. And I don't think you're that mercenary."</p><p>She's right. As a coldly tactical, logical point, it holds something. Ryoma, now that he has said it, doesn't like the hollow weight such a thing leaves in his stomach. But: it's true.</p><p>"If I spent more time near him as a wolf," Ryoma starts thoughtfully.</p><p>"Bad idea."</p><p>"I know," he says. "I know. But— if you spin him something about, I don't know, a high-content wolf-dog who wanders through the reserve. And I could— use that to visit. It's harder to say something stupid as a wolf. I could inure myself to his scent as much as possible, and at the same time establish if there's truly anything to worry about."</p><p>"You just want to be near him." Hinoka is at least thinking about it. She doesn't seem overly impressed.</p><p>"Well," Ryoma says. "Yes."</p><p>"Uh-huh."</p><p>"He's already said he doesn't want anything long-term. Such a thing may be... all I can have. All there is." Ryoma can't help the frown, nor the twinge near his heart as he says it. He may actually be setting himself up for more pain, this way.</p><p>And yet: it's better than nothing. </p><p>"You don't even know where you could visit him," Hinoka tries, and doesn't even wait for an answer. "No. Wait. Okay. Before you do anything else, <em>at all</em>, involving this man, we need to talk to Mother."</p><p>As much as he fears Mother will tell him to leave it be, Ryoma knows Hinoka has the right of it. Reluctantly, he nods. Mother usually does see clear. "After wolf night," he says, for the moon rises earlier in autumn.</p><p>"Deal," Hinoka says, and vaults up. On her feet she bounces once, looking like she's about to start a race; then, just for a moment, she sobers. "...I want you to find someone good, y'know. And if he's – ugh – really it, then I'll help you out however I can. I just... I'm going to have to use him for a chew toy if he breaks your heart, yeah? And he'd taste <em>awful</em>, so it's better if I don't have to."</p><p>"Thanks, Hinoka," Ryoma says, with the flat irritation that is really the only response he can muster on short notice. He can take care of it, truthfully.</p><p>But— she's really very sweet.</p><p>Hinoka grins, yanks his door open, and takes off running.</p><p>She sticks close to him that night, as though she's worried he's going to get ideas in his mind and charge off to find Xander. Ryoma doesn't try, doesn't think he would have even if he wasn't running into Hinoka's wiry russet-furred form every time he turned around. Wolf night is a pack night, for family and the reasserting thereof. </p><p>It used to be the pups, the small ones young enough not to change and old enough to grip well, would get to run with them. It has not been that way for fifteen years, and there are no pups among them now.</p><p>At the end of the night, though, they all of them still collapse into one large, happily exhausted pile. Ryoma and Takumi squabble briefly about who gets to use whom for a chinrest; Sakura wins this argument by nosing politely up against Ryoma's side. She's still more leg and fluff than wolf, and almost no one will argue with her.</p><p>The humans of the pack join in with slightly more decorum. Mother is last, tucking herself against the side of Ryoma which Sakura hasn't claimed. Ryoma only bothers to stay awake long enough to track where all his siblings have gotten to before he leans into Mother's quiet dignity and promptly, satisfied, passes out.</p><p>In the morning, when they all have their wits about them, robes are flung at each other, and there's a general race for showers. Some few try to figure out what they rolled in. Hinoka manages to elbow Ryoma in the ribs, yet again, while belting her robe. When he glances over, she gives him a pointed look.</p><p>"Can't we at least eat first?" he protests. They'd hunted tolerably well, but shifting consumes a great deal of energy. </p><p>He's also well aware he's trying to put this conversation off as long as possible.</p><p>"Mother," Hinoka says at the top of her lungs, without taking her eyes off Ryoma. "Ryoma and I need to talk to you after breakfast, okay?"</p><p>"All right," Mother's voice floats back. She sounds distracted – getting foliage out of Takumi's hair, probably – but Ryoma knows better than to think she'll forget. </p><p>He lifts a lip at Hinoka in halfhearted disapproval. Hinoka shrugs, shoulders a little up like she wants to put her ears back and can't quite manage it in this form. "You know I'm right."</p><p>"I do," he says, rumbling low nevertheless. "And I gave you my word I'd speak to Mother."</p><p>"Not when," Hinoka points out.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't have an argument for this, as he was, in fact, putting it off. Hinoka prances off, probably to bribe someone else to make waffles, and all Ryoma can do is sigh heavily.</p><p>At least, if he is to go to the doom of awkward conversations with Mother, it will be well-fed.</p><p>Between breakfast and showers and an interlude of good-natured wrestling with Takumi, it's more like midday before Ryoma and Hinoka coordinate to get a quiet, private room with Mother. She's been going over what looks like one of the accounting ledgers while she waited for them, making little marginal notes in blue and red ink, alternately. She looks up when Hinoka closes the door behind them, and she smiles all small and gentle at the sight of her children.</p><p>There's an edge of grief to it. There has been for fifteen years. Some things, Ryoma has learned, never quite heal, only ever recede.</p><p>"What is so important that you needed to rush breakfast?" Mother asks, with a shift toward quiet humor.</p><p>Ryoma can't quite laugh. Mother still bears the grief of Father and Corrin. As do they all, one way or another, but Mother isn't wolf the same way they are. And here Ryoma is, mooning over a son of that family, a son of the man who killed his father, Mother's husband.</p><p>He's debating the best way to begin the conversation when Hinoka starts the conversation for him. "Ryoma's got a scent-bond." She says it like she's saying he's got a crush, all drawn-out and teasing.</p><p>It's not entirely inaccurate, as far as being tongue-tied and infatuated. Crushes, however, don't have much to do with wolves and instincts and magic. They can't be easily broken by the right scented plants. They do, at least, involve navigating the delicate line between instinct and rational thought.</p><p>Mother brightens, her smile deepening as she turns her gaze fully on Ryoma. "That doesn't seem worthy of such a troubled face. Who is it?"</p><p>Ryoma hates to disappoint her, but knows he's about to. "Xander," he says, and, reluctantly, "König."</p><p>Mother's smile freezes in place. There's an urge to shift and put his chin in her lap, lick her face in conciliation. Ryoma stays resolutely human; this needs to be a conversation with words. "I've spoken with him some," he says, quietly. "He has been... a gentleman."</p><p>"In both forms," Hinoka puts in, eying Ryoma.</p><p>He'd had some vague hope of not talking about that, for the loss of control does not paint him entirely well, but Hinoka is right: Mother needs to know everything. Ryoma inclines his head slowly, acknowledging. "He has not connected man to wolf," he says. "I believe – based on my few observations – that he does not know of us as wolves, and also that he is nothing like his father."</p><p>"Once," Mother says softly, "Garon was not as he is now. Or so your father believed."</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head. "Hinoka reminded me of that, too. I'm well aware people can lie. It's just— his behavior, when he has believed he's not observed by any member of the pack, has been consistent. He didn't even let Hinoka pick a fight with him."</p><p>"Hinoka." The disapproving tone is now for Hinoka.</p><p>Slowly, Hinoka turns a red to match her hair. "I didn't mean to," she says. "He was just <em>there</em>. I didn't think. He left, anyway."</p><p>"And there's the scent-bond," Ryoma adds, before Hinoka can dig herself any further hole to roll in.</p><p>Mother's brow knits faintly, and she lays down her current pen beside the other, smooths her hand along the page of the ledger in thought. "There is that," she agrees slowly. "From what your father shared with me of such things… if he harbors some hidden hostility, it wouldn’t have happened."</p><p>"That is more or less what I recalled," Ryoma says. "But I wasn't sure. It was— a while ago." </p><p>He had been thirteen when Father died, only a few months shifted. Father had spoken with him and Hinoka about scent-bonds, impressed on them the importance of being careful with out-pack mates, that they would never again want another if the bond was consummated. He and their mother had been a match of preference and choice, but Mother had been a scent-bond. </p><p>"He isn't who I would have thought, given his father," Ryoma goes on, softly, shaded with the melancholy of everything cut short. "Not to mention that he's said he isn't looking for anything long-term, which would preclude a commitment in any case." All his observations so far only stack up to one giant puzzle, one which has only twisted itself up more. If the scent-bond comes out of that place where instinct meets soul and twines two forms into one, if Ryoma's soul and instinct are only sharpened by the storm's blessing in his veins, then why this man, whose father has only brought the pack grief?</p><p>Technically Corrin is only missing, not dead. They never found her body, only the scent of her blood. But after all this time— surely there would have been something. </p><p>"It doesn't make sense," Ryoma says finally. "<em>He</em> doesn't make sense."</p><p>"I have no insight," Mother admits soberly. Sometimes she does. Mother isn't wolf – but she isn't human, either.</p><p>No one asks. Sometimes, they catch Orochi researching <em>geasa</em>. Most of the time, the pack forgets what she can't say. Mother is theirs, and that's what matters.</p><p>Hinoka makes a face. "Is it Ryoma or is it just that there’s nothing?"</p><p>Raijinto, they called the power that rides Ryoma. They think it was a sword, once. It's been passed down the pack's bloodline for generations, bringing storms in its wake, bringing the clean clarity of the world once lightning has struck and all is still. Many of the specifics about its power have long since been lost; even knowing it clouds Mother's insights isn't much at all, compared to what's been lost.</p><p>"It isn't Raijinto." Mother taps the account book, then looks down at it as if she's only just now seeing that it's there. "I simply know nothing at all, here. Only that where much is risked, much may be gained  – or lost. But this, I have always known." She musters a wan smile. "A wolf's instincts are keen, when he listens to them."</p><p>Ryoma wonders if she means Father trusted too blindly. Impossible to tell now: but perhaps Father had felt some gnawing doubt, and had chosen to trust anyway. What he remembers suggests… Father had liked to believe the best, hadn't he?</p><p>His instincts died with him, and the storm bears no answers.</p><p>"What do your instincts say, Ryoma?"</p><p>He closes his eyes to think about Mother's question, and finds he doesn't entirely know. Where is the line between stupid with desire and listening to instincts of his deeper self? Not once has he felt threatened, he knows. Alarmed by how <em>much</em> the scent is, how much Ryoma wants to simply roll in Xander's lap and forget everything else, but never in danger.</p><p>Indulgence, or instinct?</p><p>Ryoma hears Hinoka blow out a short sharp breath, and ignores it, dismisses it as her impatience. He perhaps should not have.</p><p>"Hinoka," Mother says. "What are you doing?"</p><p>"Setting up a way to get us more information," Hinoka says. Ryoma hears the call connecting. His eyes flick open with some concern, but the person on the other end has already picked up. Hinoka backs away, bares her teeth in an almost-grin. Her voice slides up an octave. "Yes, hi, Mr. König? This is the manager of the South County wildlife rehab center. You called us earlier with a few questions about wolves?"</p><p>Very quietly, very gently, Mother rests her forehead in one hand, as though she has a headache.</p><p>"Sure," Hinoka says cheerfully. "Actually, if you're interested, why don't I set you up a meeting with our resident wolf expert? We're pretty busy down here right now, but he can answer all your questions and then some."</p><p>Ryoma is distracted enough by the terrible wonder of Hinoka's customer service voice that he doesn't realize precisely what she's doing until it's far too late to stop her.</p><p>"Sure," Hinoka says again. "I know he's free next weekend. How's Saturday?"</p><p>Ryoma lunges for her. Hinoka, having perhaps not the gift of foresight but definitely the gifts of common sense and tactical thinking, has already moved far enough he can't immediately snatch the phone. Now she scoots around behind Mother's desk, which they both know Ryoma won't lunge across.</p><p>"Great, you can meet him down here at the rehab center at noon then," Hinoka chirps,  sealing Ryoma's fate. "Buh-bye now."</p><p>She makes a face at Ryoma as soon as she hangs up, dropping back into her normal register. "What did you think you were going to do if you got the phone?"</p><p>Ryoma doesn't know. Hide it from her, possibly.</p><p>"Are you sure that was wise?" Mother asks.</p><p>"No," Hinoka says, baldfaced. "But that's the point, isn't it? None of us know enough. Ryoma's still going to be stupid, but if they're outside and he's upwind, that'll be better, won't it? Kagero can take the Saturday shift so she's there if you're really worried. And then Ryoma can... try to figure out his instincts, and if there's anything there he's missing because the guy smells too nice."</p><p>Both Mother and Ryoma stare at Hinoka for a long moment.</p><p>"It makes sense," Ryoma says. "But you were the one telling me this was a bad idea in the first place."</p><p>"Yeah, well." Hinoka folds her arms. Unfolds them. Sighs. "I think we have to look at what's actually there. Not what we're afraid is there, and not what we hope is there, either. So. Try to be a little more suspicious, okay? For me. And I'll try... whatever this is."</p><p>She doesn't have to say that perhaps that was their father's failing: seeing only what he hoped.</p><p>"All right," Ryoma says. "If you have no objection, Mother, I'll try to figure out what he knows."</p><p>Mother hesitates several long moments; and finally, finally nods.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>any sufficiently advanced chapter titles will be indistinguishable from shitposts. or song lyrics. or, sometimes, both.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. brothers will be brothers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As pleasing as it is to have sorted at least one thing with regards to the wolf, the voice of the woman he talked to is yet bothering him. Xander is sure he's heard it before, somewhere; but she only identified herself as manager, and he hasn't had any dealings with the wildlife rehabilitation center, or, indeed, the wildlife, save one. </p><p>Eventually he gives up that wondering. There are other things to be attended to, and he'll find out sooner or later, probably next week when she indicated he might come by to meet their wolf expert. In the interim, it surely can't be that important. </p><p>Xander is sitting on his bed, contemplating next moves and the overwhelming thickness of a wolf's fur – he regrets yet again that he did not take his gloves off to touch properly – when the phone he has so recently put down rings. He glances over with half a thought to simply let it go to voicemail, but the caller is Leo. </p><p>Leo is worth picking up for. Xander answers the phone.</p><p>"Where are you?" is the first thing Leo says, bypassing anything like greeting. It isn't entirely uncommon for Leo to forego certain social niceties, but even for him this is somewhat abrupt.</p><p>"At the house," Xander says, brow knit. He wasn't aware his location presented any significant concern. "Why do you ask? Is something wrong?"</p><p>"At the—?" Leo stops there, and there's a series of rustling sounds from the phone, a sequence of cloth and pages turning which doesn't make any sense to Xander. All the same he closes his eyes, lets the signs of Leo's presence wash over him. Eventually Leo uses his words again, and the sounds stop. "I... suppose you are."</p><p>It isn't an explanation. "Why were you concerned?" Xander asks, for surely anything that would concern Leo is something he, too, should pay attention to. </p><p>Leo hems, not committing to anything explicit yet. Is it only that Xander has caught him in the act of caring? No— that isn't it, not quite. "Leo?" </p><p>"I've been keeping track of you," Leo says finally, in an oddly delicate sort of way. "Recently. Just— to see."</p><p>It's hardly an explanation for why, but Leo doesn't say any more than that. Tracking— tracking how? There's the instinctive jerk of fear at the thought of discovery, at the thought of someone else finding out about the ranch— </p><p>Leo wouldn't tell Father. He knows, too, about keeping something for yourself. Xander takes a breath, and settles. "Why does this lead to you calling to ask where I am?"</p><p>"Because you vanished." Leo is blunt and final about this, and much less uncertain than any of his previous phrasings have been. "Sometimes there are points when it's harder to pinpoint your location than others, but you've never completely vanished before." <em>I was worried</em>, Xander fills in mentally.</p><p>Leo must have done something to his phone, Xander concludes; some kind of tracking app or bug. Signal isn't very good out at the ranch. And it would follow, because— "My phone died last night," Xander says, skipping the intervening queries straight to the answer. </p><p>"What?" Leo doesn't sound like that's the answer he expected. "No, I— what does your phone have to do with this?"</p><p>"You were tracking it, weren't you?"</p><p>"Ah. That's why..." Leo stops for several moments. Xander listens to the faintest whisper of his breath. "...where did you go, that you ran out of battery?"</p><p>This time it's Xander's turn to hesitate over explanations. He does trust his siblings, truly – it's only – the more people who know a thing, the more potential ways there are for it to get out. The ranch is his, built from the ground up with what Mother left him and nothing more. Father has never touched it, has no claim. And yet: Xander thinks he could not bear it, if Father as he has been these past few years even came near it. </p><p>"I took a walk," Xander says. "In the woods. To clear my head."</p><p>"The <em>woods</em>?" </p><p>"We do have them," he says, a little more dryly. "It's not the dead of winter yet, either. I simply didn't remember to charge the battery before then, that's all."</p><p>"The woods," Leo repeats, more thoughtfully now. "Always the woods..."</p><p>This makes less sense than the rest of the conversation. Xander raises an eyebrow at his phone. "What do you mean by that?" </p><p>"It's nothing." Pages rustle; Leo, hastily flipping through something. "You're talking about the nature reserve out to the west, aren't you?"</p><p>Xander doesn't think there are too many other patches of untouched woodland nearby. "I haven't looked at the legal boundaries recently, but yes," he says. Though he does mean to, in point of fact, and he catches that thought as it nearly slips by him. The contract; the promises he had agreed to, in exchange for...</p><p>There was something besides simply the careful use of the land, wasn't there? He needs to look again. Xander pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs carefully under his eyes.</p><p>"Hmph," Leo says. "I thought so. Are you out that way very often?"</p><p>"Sometimes," Xander says vaguely. </p><p>"Hmm." </p><p>The house that is so often too empty has gone from that resounding openness to something smothering, too close. Xander stands, twists left and right to stretch. Goes to the window and cracks it open, leans out with phone still pressed to his ear. </p><p>He wonders what that wolf is doing. He doesn't know quite enough about the habits of wolves to guess.</p><p>"Leo?"</p><p>"Still here."</p><p>Of course he is. Xander laughs very softly, very shortly. "Do you remember, a few years ago, when I asked you to help me research contract law?"</p><p>"I remember." In the blank spaces of the sky Xander can just about see the way Leo's attention piques, shifts sharp-eyed from book to brother. "You wanted to use a proxy for something, but the counter-signer wanted a drop of blood in exchange." </p><p>"That's correct." Xander hadn't told him what it was for. Leo had asked once, and then dropped it. Sometimes Xander wonders how much Leo knows, how much he sees. How much he has learned on his own recognizance. "I can't seem to remember her name at the moment, but I'll send you the spelling later, when I have it to hand again— I wondered if you might help me find more about her."</p><p>"Of course," Leo says. There's a few unspoken conditions – coursework first, and so on – but regardless he agrees without hesitation, as he is wont to. "Let me know the details when you have them. As much information as you have, please. Can I get a ballpark, at least?"</p><p>It's been a while since he had to think of the details, so he supposes it’s no wonder the name is hard to remember, but the rest being fuzzy is annoying. Still, it’s also true Xander probably needs better sleep than he’s gotten. "I was reviewing the contract in question recently, that’s all, and it struck me that it would be useful to know more about the local nature reserve, and the history of the land... I couldn’t find much online, myself." It’s not necessarily about the wolf, this query, but Xander knows he’s missing <em>something</em>; and, not knowing what else there is to look for, he has to guess that a wide net is best.</p><p> "I see." Leo doesn't sound wholly convinced; but he continues on, more or less, as if things are fine. "Well, I don't mind looking into it for you." </p><p>There's something else in his voice, too. Xander can't hear him quite as well through the phone, but Leo sounds, more or less, like he does when he has an interesting problem or mystery to solve. It's more than the perfunctory interest only on his brother's behalf that Xander had expected on this note.</p><p>"Thank you," he says. "I'll have it to you this week."</p><p>"No rush," Leo says, with some amusement. "I haven't had trouble with anything here yet, and I don't plan to start now." </p><p>Leo learns very quickly, Xander knows; quickly and with determination, as if he refuses to acknowledge the possibility that something might go unknown to him, that there might be any puzzle he cannot eventually solve. School is not much of a trouble to him. He suspects— well. If he is honest, he knows the out-of-state school is at least in part only so Leo will be out from underfoot. </p><p>"How <em>is</em> school going?" Xander asks, instead of dwelling on this or the wolf any further.</p><p>Leo makes a dismissive, careless sort of a sound. "The best I can say is that it gets out of my way quickly."</p><p>Xander laughs very quietly, enough that Leo may not even hear it, and leaning against the window settles into a less businesslike conversation with his brother. They pass an easy length of time this way, and now and then Xander can just about pretend that Leo is home, that he is not rattling around in an empty house with a half-present Camilla and a father now more interested in his work than his children.</p><p>Eventually Leo has to go. When this happens, Xander is surprised to note he's been on the phone for nearly an hour. It had seemed like less, somehow. </p><p>He stays leaning against the window longer than that, inhaling fresh air and tapping fingers absently against the blank dark screen, and— thinking. Only thinking. It couldn't have been a dream, could it? Brocade bucked him in the forest, and he slept there, had an uncannily vivid dream and awoke thinking it was real? </p><p>He remembers petting the wolf; remembers the irritated flicker of ears as he'd searched for a tag or a notch, anything to indicate this was a wolf with human supervision at one point in its life. All of it, from the heavy weight of the chin on his thigh to the apparently annoyed huff when Xander didn't go where the wolf hoped— all of it still seems very vivid. But a wolf so clearly interested in him, one not running or hunting or attacking but simply being with him... how could it be possible? </p><p>Maybe, he considers, the wildlife center will know if such behavior is beyond the pale. Especially if they have had cause to hear of this particular wolf before. Until then...</p><p>Well, until then Xander is going to act as if it were real. A strangeness, an impossibility, perhaps, but one he liked too well to give up quite so easily as all that. </p><p>He has other things to do this week; and yet, the wolf never quite strays too far from his thoughts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Doing two chapters again today, since both are to the shorter side. I may not keep this pace up forever, since the back third needs more editing than the front, but I'll do as much as I can. :) Enjoy!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. not a date</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma picks flowers out of his loose braid almost as fast as his sisters weave them in, but the problem is that there are two of them to one of him, Takumi having vanished to some sullen corner as soon as the name König hit the air, and that there are certain things Ryoma can't quite reach.</p><p>"Stand still," Hinoka says, thumping him on the shoulder as he pulls yet another sprig of slightly-crushed lavender free. "We're just trying to make sure you have other overwhelming scents available."</p><p>It's harder to want to knock plants away when it's Sakura. His youngest sister bites her lip in concentration over the end of his braid and Ryoma gives up on that part.</p><p>"I'm sure there are ways to do that which don't involve flowers in my hair," Ryoma says impatiently, and he lets his breath out long and slow to make himself be mindful. "The flowers are fine. I don’t want to look as if I tried to dress up."</p><p>"Of course there are other ways." Hinoka steps away, retrieves something small and glass from the trove of cut stems she brought in with her. "Here. Careful with it— peppermint essential oil."</p><p>Ryoma's nose wrinkles at even the suggestion, as does Sakura's.</p><p>"Just in case," Hinoka says, and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. Ryoma takes over when she doesn't experience much success. They're tight jeans, which is rather the point— an extra reminder not to shift and do anything stupid.</p><p>Ryoma had drawn the line, however, at a shirt with buttons. It's something like a kimono-style top instead, wrapped and wide-sleeved and easy to shrug out of in a hurry if he really feels the need. Which he shouldn't. Hinoka stands back to look him over, nods shortly to herself. "I'm going to go find Saizo," she says. "He said he'd be up for this, but I haven't seen him all day. Sakura, can you finish up?" </p><p>"Mmhm." Sakura peeks around Ryoma just to nod at Hinoka, then goes back to what she was doing. </p><p>Since it's Sakura, Ryoma can be fairly easily convinced to hand her what she wants, even when it involves continuing to put flowers in his hair. Ryoma patiently trades one for another, lets Sakura hum and deliberate over which flowers will complement best in both sight and scent. </p><p>Hinoka is taking a while about finding Saizo. This, Ryoma feels, was always going to be the case. </p><p>"You haven't said anything about how you feel about all this," Ryoma says eventually. He lets it sit in the air, not pressing for answer immediately, just waiting for Sakura to consider that. </p><p>The gentle tug at his hair pauses – continues – pauses. Sakura reaches a hand around him, palm up and beckoning for flowers.</p><p>He continues to be complicit in his own decoration. Ryoma sets another stem into her hand.</p><p>"It's... weird," Sakura says eventually, hesitant. She's quiet, but not mumbling. Among the pack, she doesn't <em>have</em> to be loud. "Have you ever felt like... um." Even though she's behind him, Ryoma can practically see her face, the fine crease in her forehead as she frowns and chews on her lip. "Like you know you should be feeling something, but you don't? It's like... when you're watching a sad movie, but it just doesn't connect."</p><p>Sakura's coming at this sidelong, but Ryoma knows the feeling, more or less. "You know it's supposed to be sad," he says aloud. "You can see the director’s choices that make it that way, but it doesn't make you cry. Is that right?" </p><p>"Mm." Sakura pauses, marked again by the lack of gentle tugs of careful flower stem work. "It's like that." For another several moments she doesn't speak, and Ryoma more or less recognizes the sound of putting her thoughts in order. "I know... who murdered our father. And I know that the person you're scent-bonded to, this Xander, he's that man's son. And I understand why everyone would be angry, and upset, and think trusting him is a bad idea. But... I don't know." </p><p>She breathes out, and then there's a light weight against Ryoma's back where she leans against him. "It's just not there," she says, almost sadly. "Maybe it's... I never really knew Father, you know? Pictures and stories... they aren't the same." </p><p>Ryoma's throat pangs sharp. Fifteen years, and still every so often, the wound pulls; as much for what his siblings and Mother have lost as for himself.</p><p>"I don't think it's wrong, for Takumi and Hinoka to be upset," Sakura goes on. "Or angry, or worried. I guess I'm not sure how I feel, yet. But if you like him, that's what matters right now, isn't it?" </p><p>Ryoma appreciates that more than he can immediately say. Sakura straightens up and reaches out for flowers again. "Two more, please, and that should be enough."</p><p>He picks out two different ones and passes them over. "Thank you," he says quietly.</p><p>"You're my brother," Sakura says, as if this explains everything. "Even if it seems strange, I trust you'll have a good reason for whatever you decide to do. So... whatever you choose to do about Xander, I'll support you."</p><p>It's the kindest thing she could have said to him, Ryoma thinks. Especially in light of the deep suspicion from much of the rest of the pack. It isn't like they don't have their reasons. Even Ryoma himself remembers to be wary, sometimes. And yet: Sakura approaches it so straightforwardly. "Sometimes," Ryoma says, "you remind me very much of Father."</p><p>Sakura makes some quiet startled sound, confused. "What do you mean? I don't..."</p><p>He knows what she's getting at, even if she's trailed off in finishing with her busy hands. Sakura is quite small, though the legginess of her other form suggests to Ryoma she'll put on some height sooner or later. Father was a tall man, broad-shouldered and often loud. He put the whole of himself into everything he did, and the whole of himself was quite a bit. </p><p>"Father was... very kind," Ryoma says, voice a little thicker as he picks his way carefully through that forested memory. "Perhaps how you show it is –  different – but the spirit is the same."</p><p>It would be easy for an onlooker to assume Sakura had learned it from Mother. She is kind, too, after all. But Mother’s is a different sort, the sort with edges in it made of grief and loss and determination. Father hadn't had the opportunity to learn those. His expressions of kindness were unreserved and infinite. Sakura shows it more quietly, but she has something of the same nature, Ryoma thinks.</p><p>Sakura drops the end of his braid and comes around to hug him properly, face pressed into his chest. Without a word Ryoma loops his arms around her. "I didn't realize," she says, a little muffled. </p><p>Ryoma is, aside from Mother, perhaps the best capable of picking out aspects of their parents among his siblings, but he doesn't do it often. They are all very much of themselves, after all, and he has never been sure if it will be a comfort or an impossible standard. "You are Sakura before you are anything else," he says finally, and ruffles up her hair. </p><p>When Sakura untangles herself she's smiling. "I know," she says, tilting her head back. "Thank you. You're going to be careful, right?"</p><p>As careful as he knows how to be. "Kagero will be at the rehab center," Ryoma says. "If Hinoka ever finds where Saizo went, I believe the plan is to ask him to wait wolfshape in the woods, just in case."</p><p>"Hmmm," Sakura says. "That's Kagero and Saizo. What about you?" </p><p>Ryoma smiles at her, fond and a little resigned at having been caught out. "I will be as cautious as I can," he promises her. "Under the circumstances." </p><p>"All right." She links her fingers together before her, looks down thinking before looking up again. "Um. What's it like? The scent-bond. Is it that... that difficult?"</p><p>"Yes and no. It's not bad, at any rate." Ryoma makes a start at tidying up, collects the leftover flowers only for Sakura to take them from him. "It's just... strong. He's the best thing I've ever smelled – like home, if you had been homesick all your life." He opts to edit out some of what it makes him want. "I'll get used to it – I <em>am</em> getting used to it – but for now being around him can be overwhelming."</p><p>Sakura snags up a pile of unused ribbons, tucking them into the crook of her elbow so she can carry everything easily. "But you have to if you want it to get less overwhelming, right?" </p><p>Ryoma shakes his head to test the weight of the braid with flowers, nods the second after. "It will get better," he says, as reassuring as he knows how to be. "I'll be careful, and I'll be fine. I promise."</p><p>"Thank you," Sakura says, smiling in that gentle-bright way she has. </p><p>"I found Saizo," Hinoka announces, breezing back in. "He'll meet you down at the center— oh, good, you're done." </p><p>Sakura ducks her head a little, as though to keep the smile private. "I, um, might have gone overboard," she says.</p><p>Hinoka circles Ryoma to get a good look at the flowers, shrugs when she's facing Ryoma again. "Nah, you did a good job. He'll probably lose a couple of them anyway. Anything we missed? Mint, lavender, other flowers, backup waiting..." She eyeballs Ryoma, and he sees the moment where she considers Sakura and decides not to make a dirtier joke. "...I guess that's all we really can do. Ready to go, Ryoma?"</p><p>"A moment," Ryoma says, and goes to check himself in the mirror. </p><p>He doesn't have an excuse for that, really.</p><p>All things told, once he's made it out of the house the travel is quick enough that he gets to the rehab center early, and spends some time leaning against the front desk, slowing his breathing with the vague hope that it will also slow his eager heartbeat. Kagero's serious, dark-eyed gaze is a comforting weight. She really does do work here, helping with the animals— and she's also entirely going to intercede if it looks like Ryoma can't actually handle himself.</p><p>Both of them hear the car pull up, crunching gravel in the front lot. Kagero offers a small smile. "You should have seen your parents, early days around Mikoto," she says, with some quiet fondness.</p><p>Ryoma barely remembers those times, in the span before their mother had died but after Mikoto had taken sanctuary with the pack. He tilts his head in mute curiosity.</p><p>"You haven't wrestled a bear to impress him yet." Kagero's mouth quirks. In anyone else, the little gesture would be a laugh.</p><p>At this, Ryoma himself <em>does</em> laugh, if wistfully. "That sounds about right."</p><p>"Mhm," Kagero agrees. The door behind Ryoma opens.</p><p>Ryoma holds his breath.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fair warning that Sumeragi and Ikona, such as they are present, will be a sizeable chunk of headcanon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. a walk in the woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The week passes over quickly, and also not nearly quickly enough. Xander does find time to go back to the ranch on Thursday, snags a quick snapshot of the signatories on the contract to send to Leo so he’s assured he won’t forget anything this time. Something in the compression of the image goes a little strange when he sends it, but Leo texts that he has enough information to work with anyway. </p><p>And then it's Saturday. Xander leaves early enough to have some wiggle room if it transpires that he can't find his destination, but it turns out he needn't have worried. The rehab center is easy enough to find, marked by two bright signs in what's otherwise a sea of green and brown and the slowly encroaching shades of autumn. From the outside it's a low, rough building, unremarkable save for the fenced enclosures it borders. Inside is warm-toned fluorescent lighting and two people.</p><p>Xander takes a moment over the surroundings – clean, a bulletin board of bright posters and one dent in the wall away from sterile, a cacophony of different birds far in the background. Then the people. The woman behind the desk is the sort of unremarkable his eyes try to skip over for a moment, and it takes a second look to fix in his mind that she’s a brunette with dark eyes and an expression that might well be schooled to neutrality. </p><p>At first he thinks the person with their back to him is a woman, as well, and in his defense the long braid full of wildflowers is initially deceptive. Xander pulls his eyes a little guiltily away from the tight fit of worn-in blue jeans across a very nicely curved rear. Only then does he notice the broad shoulders, and then the person turns, and Xander misses a heartbeat. Having his hair braided back changes the shape of his face a little, paradoxically makes his jawline stronger for the relative gentleness implied in the style, but all the same Xander has no trouble recognizing the man from the party, whose sister had so preemptively dragged him off. </p><p>"Ah," Xander says, poleaxed. It's perhaps gratifying to see the man hesitate the same way. "I spoke to a woman on the phone...?" Was it perhaps the woman behind the desk? </p><p>The other man inclines his head, and it's a slow, almost courtly gesture. "I'm the expert she mentioned," he says. </p><p>"I see," Xander says. All right. Well, he's perfectly capable of keeping his calm around an attractive person, even if that person seems to have somehow discovered a way to be <em>more</em> attractive than in a well-fitted tuxedo. "I didn't quite catch your name the other night?" He's a little hesitant about admitting this, given that he's sure he'd heard it, but-- well, there had subsequently been rather a loud distraction.</p><p>"Ryoma," he says. "Morimoto. I'm given to understand I may need to apologize on behalf of my sister?" </p><p>For his sister dragging him off? Xander summons up images of the short redhead – hair just crimson enough he suspected there was dye involved, an angry blush that suffused her entire face, a jet-black suit with no relief of white. </p><p>Ryoma seems to grasp that Xander is having trouble figuring out what needs apologizing for. "She said she had been somewhat more hostile than was really warranted, when you met," he says. </p><p>"Ah— yes." Xander connects the dots. He hadn't thought of it simply because – well, he had been ultimately more offended by Ryoma being dragged off before their conversation was done. But it's true: earlier that evening, the lively Ms. Morimoto had insulted his fashion sense, business practices, and ancestry more or less in one breath. Xander had disengaged from the conversation more so there wouldn't be a scene than anything else.</p><p>It was hard to take offense from someone who he barely knew. "It wasn't anything of note," Xander says, truthfully. "She seemed like she was upset about something else, and I only happened to be there." </p><p>Ryoma doesn't immediately answer him. Xander takes the opportunity to study him a little further – the distant look in his gray eyes, the soft drape of his flowing top. It looks Japanese in style, an interesting contrast to the stricter lines of jeans below. Accordingly, Xander categorizes a new and interesting set of wants, and sets them aside. He does not need to act on them. </p><p>But they are captivating thoughts.</p><p>The woman behind the desk clears her throat. As though he has been startled into motion, Ryoma shifts, speaks. "Well! You had questions?"</p><p> Xander comes back to himself more firmly, recalling his purpose, recalling the wolf of the week earlier. "Yes," he says. He definitely had questions. He can't think of how to start— does he lead up gently? Does he circle the topic? He can't imagine people who do their best to to keep animals safe will be especially happy about his encroaching.</p><p>But he is here to learn, which will count for something. "I— thought I saw a wolf the other day, but it was unusually friendly," he explains. "So I wasn't... entirely sure. And it occurred to me that I don't know very much about wolves, in truth; certainly not enough to react helpfully. So— questions."</p><p>"This is the right place to ask those questions." Ryoma says this with a gentle smile, with no judgment at all in his tone. Xander finds himself relaxing a little without even meaning to. "Why don't we step outside? If you don't mind a walk."</p><p>Yes, Xander thinks. Outside they will not have an audience, and he may safely be slightly more foolish. "I don't mind. Shall we?" And at Ryoma's nod he turns around, pushes back through the door, holding it only long enough to ensure it won't close in Ryoma's face. </p><p>Outside he waits for Ryoma to pick the direction, since this is his home turf; and Xander watches, with some lingering appreciation, as Ryoma turns his face into the wind, eyes half-closed, as though the simple existence of nature bequeaths delight. </p><p>Xander needs to perhaps not be <em>quite</em> this foolish.</p><p>"You said the wolf you saw was friendly?" Ryoma inquires, as he picks his direction and starts walking. </p><p>Falling into step with him is easy, as they are nearly of a height. Xander has to remind himself to give perhaps an extra pace or two or distance, to be courteous, as Ryoma had turned him down the month before. "That's correct," he says. "I thought... he must be used to humans, one way or another." Provided, naturally, that Xander hadn't dreamed him after all. </p><p>Ryoma seems to consider this. "Well, there <em>is</em> a pack that frequents the area," he says. "I can't confirm very much about that or their habits— for their protection, you understand."</p><p>Xander understands this, though he wishes he didn't. He is very well aware that there are people in the world who can and will hunt wolves and other creatures, for trophy before meat or genuine environmental concern. "Of course," he says, low and resigned. "I understand."</p><p>Ryoma nods, and his expression isn't unfriendly. Every so often he turns to watch Xander, though he's the one leading their path. "We've had occasion to treat a few of them," he says. "In such cases, we limit contact to one or two humans— the bare minimum possible. There are enough people ignorant of the ecological impact of unchecked wolf hunting that it's safer both for them and for us if—" </p><p>Xander really is interested in what he has to say, but Ryoma cuts himself off there, and the look on his face is a gentle smile that leans to self-deprecation. "Ah, but you didn't ask about what I <em>can't</em> tell you. There are some coyotes in the area, too, and mixes— I wonder, can you describe who you saw?"</p><p>It's such a little quirk of language, but it sparks something peculiarly warm in Xander. This man clearly cares for and respects the animals he studies, and doesn't treat them only as things. </p><p>—How to describe the wolf he saw? Xander thinks back. "About so high, I think," he says slowly, hand held parallel to the ground. He taps his hand against his side, and it feels about right, marking the space that the wolf occupied. "A deep brown..." Moonlight had said that much. He casts about for quick comparisons. "Ah. Almost the color of your hair, I might venture? Although it was quite dark." He feels a little foolish.</p><p>Ryoma brushes a hand past his ear, the habitual gesture of tucking back a mane currently restrained. "Go on," he says.</p><p>It's heartening that Xander hasn't been dismissed out of hand. He thinks further, eyes half-closed. He swears he could see the wolf in his mind – only how to describe him? "I believe he had darker markings on his face," he says. "Perhaps like so." Hesitant, he traces where similar markings would be on his own face – almost framing, or like the wolf had put his head in something just a little too small for him. Had there been anything else? </p><p>Xander almost says that was it, but he remembers something else at the last moment, turns his arm over to draw a gloved hand up the inside of his forearm. "And a lighter streak along one leg." It pulls his sleeve up; Xander tugs it back down with a quick gesture, feeling suddenly awkward as he drops his hands to his side. </p><p>Ryoma takes some moments to respond. "Yes," he says finally. Xander wonders about the delay and finds no answers, only Ryoma's gray eyes thoughtful on him. "I believe I know who you're talking about. He's actually part dog, we think— some people have released hybrid wolfdogs in this area over the years, we assume when they couldn't cope with the demands of ownership. That happens more often than you'd think, with dogs that have wolf heritage."</p><p>Xander can hardly measure the level of how much he disapproves <em>that</em>. "That's irresponsible," he murmurs, mostly for something to say, since it's pretty self-evident. It might explain why that wolf had been so friendly, though, if he has some genetics predisposing him to partnership with humans.</p><p>"Yes," Ryoma agrees, with a kind sort of bluntness. "We don't think they were adopted by the pack, but it's hard to tell— and in any case, one doesn't have to be adopted to have puppies." When Xander glances up from his contemplation of the surroundings, there's a quick flash of a wicked smile, there and gone again so fast Xander almost thinks he's imagined it. "We had him in once to take care of that leg— the lighter mark you saw."</p><p>It's a scar, then. Xander wonders what happened to him. He doesn't have enough of an opening to ask before Ryoma's going on, however.</p><p>"His friendliness, the fact he doesn't seem to travel with the pack, and some of the markers in his blood— everything leads us to believe he's a mostly-wolf descendant of one of those earlier wolfdogs, with just enough dog in him that he isn't as wary of humans as might be wise."</p><p>"I see," Xander says, filing this away. It makes sense. And it's heartening to know that he hasn't dreamed the wolf. Ryoma knew almost immediately which wolf he was describing. That night was very real.</p><p>This, too, makes him warm. </p><p>"Does that have a long-term impact on him?" Xander asks, and, nearly tripping over his tongue, follows it up with the question he should have thought of first. "Ah— and does he have a name?" Surely if they've treated him, there's at least something they called him. Something a little more than 'the wolf.' </p><p>"Uh," Ryoma says. It's remarkably less eloquent than he's been up to this point. "...Happy."</p><p>Xander can't have heard him right. "Happy?"</p><p>There's a tiny nod from Ryoma, who is not quite looking at him.</p><p>"That," Xander starts. That doesn't fit him at <em>all</em>. He remembers the opinionated shoulder-checks and the impatient ear-twitches and the affectionate heavy head on his thigh. Not what he would call unfailingly cheerful, and certainly deserving of a better epithet. "He is an incomparably majestic creature, and you – <em>someone </em>– named him 'Happy.'"</p><p>He doesn't mean to sound quite as offended as he does, and he tries not to look embarrassed after. </p><p>It's a little hard to tell what Ryoma's face is doing when Xander is busy pointedly not looking. He observes their surrounds instead, and the contrast between fenceline and trees, and the way the colors change.</p><p>"I have younger sisters," Ryoma says after a little while, as if it's explanation enough. And, well, it might be; Xander can well imagine Elise doing something similar. "Such things happen. But he is ultimately a happy fellow, we think. He manages quite well despite not having a pack.”</p><p>"That's good to know." And it is, even if it doesn't quite salve the indignity of 'Happy' as a name. Xander finds himself reassured, knowing the wolf who seemed to like him is doing well for himself. </p><p>With his eyes on the surrounds instead of his conversational partner, Xander sees the transition from path and fence to something more wooded, less traveled. "I take it this is the end of the center's territory?"</p><p>A flicker of movement draws Xander's eye; Ryoma, reaching out to tap the corner post of the fence. "Yes. We keep a small, controlled enclosure for larger animals to recuperate in a familiar environment while still being safe and monitored until they're fully rehabilitated and ready to be released. Predators and prey are kept separate – what happens out there is their business, but here we enforce a... ceasefire, shall we say."</p><p>It's more than Xander had asked, but he doesn't mind the extra information, nor Ryoma's voice as he keeps talking. "How admirable," he says, before he can quite stop himself. </p><p>He cannot have what he wants how he wants it, and so he cannot have at all, he reminds himself, and as if to save Xander's grace Ryoma looks away from him.</p><p>It's a pity. Xander marshals himself back together in the silence. "You were saying, earlier, about ecological impacts?" Xander says after a moment or two. "And the impacts of humans on the wolves, and... those like Happy?" He cannot believe that wolf is called <em>Happy</em>. He absolutely cannot.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't answer immediately, still looking away. It might have been wishful thinking to say he's looking into the woods specifically, rather than just <em>not at Xander</em>, but then Ryoma gestures in the direction of the unmarked earth. "This way," he says, with something of a question in his tone. "I know the woods, and it's a good day for such a walk."</p><p>It would be lying to say Xander doesn't want to walk with him. And— well, he knows seeing any wolf again is improbable at best. But: so, too, was the other night. "If you're sure it's all right," he says, not quite demurring. This is, after all, mostly untouched land.</p><p>"It's fine," Ryoma says. "Where shall I start?"</p><p>"With—" Ugh. That name. "Happy, please." Rather his first priority.</p><p>"He does well enough for himself without a pack, as I said," Ryoma goes on. "He must have had his parent at least long enough to teach him to hunt, as he's not underfed. We don't know for <em>sure</em> if he has siblings – it's not common, but single pups have been known to happen."</p><p>Xander wonders a little how they know Happy is of a healthy weight, if they have only had him in a very few times, but he's too interested by Ryoma's ongoing explanations to want to interrupt at the moment. </p><p>"As far as his impact on the woods, it seems negligible. He doesn't kill only for fun; we haven't found any sign of kills without consumption. Human impact on him hasn't been large. There are a few things— for one, he's not human-aggressive, as most wolves aren't by nature. He also seems to have learned to stay clear of horses and anything that smells of gunpowder." Ryoma shrugs, as though this is simply to be expected. </p><p>And perhaps it <em>is</em> to be expected. Xander thinks briefly of a night he'd rather not think of. How old <em>is</em> Happy? He seems healthy, and not especially greyed around the edges, but Xander doesn't precisely know how wolves age. "Is hunting such a rampant problem?" Surely Happy couldn't have been among the pack which his father...</p><p>No.</p><p>"Wolves have a worse reputation than they deserve," Ryoma says, and for all that he's clearly passionate about this, he manages to still sound gentle. "More than a few categories of people – farmers, real estate investors, industrial land developers, sport hunters, and so on – don't like to believe that such predators could have anything useful to contribute. After all, if you remove predators, the prey animals, the cows and sheep and goats, will only flourish, correct?" Ryoma shakes his head, mouth turning down. "It doesn't work that way; but all the same we've had to deal with more than a few illegal hunting attempts, despite the federal protections."</p><p>Xander alternates between watching the trees and the man in question. Ryoma seems to grow more comfortable as he goes, and his gestures more fluid, more graceful. It's lovely to watch, which is why Xander dare not watch too long.</p><p>"In truth," Ryoma goes on, "if there are too <em>few</em> wolves, the environment also suffers from the resulting surfeit of prey animals. Deer will overrun a farm quite easily, for instance. Wolves help keep populations at sustainable, manageable levels, and most of them really aren't interested in eating humans. Those few who would attack humans have usually first been driven to starving."</p><p>Xander, visually occupied with distinguishing between different kinds of trees, does not notice Ryoma has stopped until he nearly runs into him. Their shoulders brush, sparking something warm; Xander closes his eyes for a moment, and then steps away. Information. He is here to learn, not to... anything else. "How does all this apply to someone like Happy? You're talking about wolves in general; does one wolf – or wolfdog – outside the pack structure act very differently, or have a different environmental impact? You've said he seems mostly negligible; is this usual or atypical?"</p><p>Ryoma, still at a stand, tilts his head a little to one side, and his braid shifts. "Loners are more likely than others to be atypical," he says cautiously. "For instance, if a wolf has been forced out of a pack, it's usually because they had... significantly incompatible behaviors. Cruelty is not wholly unique to humans. But Happy isn't like that, as far as we can tell from our observations. His footprint is minimal. In truth, he really is just... living peacefully. I doubt he's hunted enough in his lifetime to significantly affect the population of any species here. Does that answer your questions?"</p><p>Does it? Xander considers further. He has some further general knowledge, and some interesting nuance between pack and loner, and perhaps something more about Happy. </p><p>Ugh. That name.</p><p>"I believe so," he says slowly. "Hm. I... What is the best course of action to take if I should happen to see him again?"</p><p>It's a foolish hope. Surely Xander shouldn't hope it in the first place. Minimizing ... Happy's direct interaction with humans can only be in his best interest. And yet he can't quite get the wolf out of his head.</p><p>Ryoma seems to be taking a little while to consider his answer. Xander entertains thoughts of dark fur in the moonlight.</p><p>"Don't feed him," Ryoma says finally, drawing Xander's attention out of his thoughts. "If he seeks you out, I wouldn't worry too much— remember, he is part dog. But don't let him come to view you as a source of food. I wouldn't recommend carrying weapons near him if you can possibly avoid it— his fear of horses and guns is a healthy one to encourage. If he does approach you, however, it's safe enough to meet him respectfully. And it's beneficial for him not to be outright terrified of humans in general, since we can and will help if he's injured, and fear can become aggression. Essentially, above all – be cautious, and be kind, and all should be well."</p><p>It can't possibly be that easy. The way Ryoma talks about it, it seems like he's almost encouraging Xander to meet with the wolf again, but it isn't as though such a thing can be guaranteed.</p><p>"You make it all sound very simple," Xander says. He doesn't quite succeed in not sounding wistful. "No food, no weapons, allow any contact to be on his terms. I understand."</p><p>He would not like to have weapons around Happy in any case.</p><p>"I doubt you'll see any other wolves," Ryoma goes on. "But he may be sufficiently bold. Where was it you saw... Happy, if I may?" </p><p>Over this, Xander has to hesitate. It was out by the ranch, after all. But it's not as though he has to confess to owning it, only admit he has been there. And he is already trusting Ryoma some ways. "Do you know the ranch out to the west of the city? It’s close to the nature reserve."</p><p>"Lady Ekaterin's," Ryoma says, and it sounds automatic, and afterward Ryoma shakes his head as though to clear it, looking faintly bemused. "It was... closed for a long time, wasn't it? And there were some agreements about the trails and husbandry methods?"</p><p>Xander smiles to hear the name before he realizes it, and only after notes that Ryoma – who has not so far appeared anything but ambiguously moneyed and also an expert on wolves – knows somehow about the contract. Or— no. Perhaps not <em>Xander’s</em>, but the one his mother had signed. "That one," he says. "My mother— had an interest." </p><p>Somehow it's more than he'd meant to say, but it's just as well. It provides an excuse for Xander to be there without owning it or otherwise appearing very suspicious. </p><p>For a moment or two, Xander's eyes trick him into thinking Ryoma is smiling at him, something warm and affectionate. Then it's gone in favor of the actual expression, moderate concern. "He wasn't on the grounds, was he?" </p><p>It's a fair worry. Xander shakes his head in answer. "No— I'd gone off one of the trails, beyond where the trail rides are usually allowed. If anything, I suspect now that I was the one intruding on him." He won't go so far again.</p><p>Unless... well. It's tempting, even if he shouldn't. To simply be in the peace of the woods; to maybe, possibly, see that wolf again. </p><p>He shouldn't. Xander takes a deep breath and looks up and around, focusing outside instead of in nebulous thoughts and memories. He sees trees, mostly. A lot of trees, and no immediate sign of the rehab center. "Ah. You do know where we are still, correct?" </p><p>"I can find our way back," Ryoma says, with some easy assurance. The corner of his mouth deepens, warm. "And I promise I have no nefarious intent."</p><p>"It hadn't even occurred to me," Xander says, truthfully, wryly. He had been more concerned by the path, or lack thereof, than his isolation with a relative stranger. </p><p>"Would you like to head back?"</p><p>He doesn't really want to. The air is fresh and clean here, and the company good. And, Xander notes, he has no idea what time it is. He looks up, and while the sun is visible he didn't take enough note of it earlier to judge how much it's moved. With a short sigh, Xander checks his watch.</p><p>It's been longer than he thought.</p><p>"I believe I must," he says finally, trying to hide his disappointment. "I have other commitments yet today. There's no need to rush, and I had rather not leave <em>immediately, </em>in point of fact— but I believe going back would be wise." That way, at least, they can walk slowly, and not have to rush the trip.</p><p>There's a pause. "Very well," Ryoma says eventually. </p><p>He's quiet, as they turn to go back. Xander wonders, falling into step with him, if Ryoma is relieved, or insulted, or equally disappointed. </p><p>It's foolish to linger in wondering. With some effort, Xander turns his thoughts back to wolves. It had seemed, earlier, like Ryoma was perhaps concerned that ... Happy would venture onto the ranch proper. Xander can follow this logic; being so bold might be a bad sign for keeping a healthy wariness. But is it a realistic risk? "What of the pack proper?" he inquires. "I understand you can't talk much about their territory, but— do you think they'll go so far out?"</p><p>Here, too, it takes a few moments for Ryoma to respond. "I don't think they will, no. They're much more reserved than Happy is."</p><p>"Ah." It's good to know. One wolf is more than enough, and the others might scare the horses. "That is probably safest for them, as well. As much as it might be nice to see them once— it seems for the best."</p><p>Again, Ryoma doesn't answer. Xander fumbles, casts about for something else. In the end there isn't anything but their surroundings, and his vague desire to hear a formless <em>more</em>. "I'm sure I've forgotten some of the things I meant to ask," he says finally, covering his bases. "If I recall correctly, the ranch's environmental policies are meant to promote harmony with wild animals and the well-being of the neighboring land, but I should like to look again. May I call or email you if I have further questions?"</p><p>"That's fine," Ryoma says. "I'm afraid I don't have a business card, but I can write my information down for you when we're back at the center."</p><p>"Thank you." That's a relief, too. Xander is sure he <em>will</em> have further questions, somewhere along the line. </p><p>"It's no problem." </p><p>And the walk is easier, from there; not in terms of terrain but in terms of easy companionship. Something's shifted in just that little space, such that Xander no longer worries he is imposing, and he thinks perhaps Ryoma looks at him a little differently as well, although he could not in truth say precisely how. </p><p>It's so quiet, outside of the city. Xander knew this, has known this, is discovering it again in the company of another who isn't a horse.</p><p>"I haven't been out this direction in a long time," he says aloud, when he cannot contain the appreciation. "It's beautiful." He doesn't expect an answer, but now that he's started it's easier to speak. "I can see why you're so invested— both in the land and the wolves." Too much easier. "It's an admirable determination." </p><p>He has no call going quite so far. This would be a good first date, he thinks, and squashes the thought mercilessly. People may compliment each other without attraction. This is honesty, nothing more. </p><p>"...Thank you," Ryoma says. Xander thinks he has colored a bit. "It is... That is, my family has lived here, and tried to look after the land, for many generations. In some ways, it's the only way I know how to live." He glances at Xander, then away again, still shaded a little pinker.</p><p>This sounds like a demurral. "All the same," Xander says. "It is easier, in such a world, to do nothing."</p><p>He knows this very well. It's harder to smile now. </p><p>"I shall take it in the intended spirit," Ryoma says at length. Hesitates. "Similarly, please know I appreciate your open-mindedness and willingness to learn. Wolves have something of an undeserved but widespread reputation in many places, and it is— refreshing to have this contrast."</p><p>"It seems the smallest of things to offer. Not much at all." Xander closes his mouth, presses his lips together for a moment. People may compliment without attraction, he reminds himself again, especially when they are becoming friends. He and Ryoma are both aware of their different desires for – relationships. "I am only— listening."</p><p>It's painfully little. (Guns, and horses, and Corrin.)</p><p>Ryoma has looked away from him again. "You might be surprised," he says to the empty air. In a moment his gray gaze returns to Xander, sharper now. Xander thinks he sees appreciation and isn't sure which one of them to curse for it. "Not all are so willing to listen. I shall rest my case if you will." </p><p>He will put off asking for additional clarification, he thinks. It'll be a little while before he can review the contract, anyway.</p><p>"Very well," he says. "That's difficult to argue with."</p><p>So they go. Xander has time, like this, to strip away thoughts of might-be, to turn his curiosities away from what Ryoma might be thinking of him and toward simple appreciation for the landscape. The wolf – the wolf is safer, ironically. A beautiful, wild thing who wants nothing of him but respect. Xander can give his heart to such a thing in relative safety.</p><p>He would like to see Happy again. Even if it is unwise.</p><p>Back at the rehab center, there is the low hum of fluorescent lights, and a faint weight that settles over his shoulders again as he steps inside, prepares to leave and go back to city and empty house and father and familial business obligations. Wordless, Ryoma goes to the desk where the same receptionist sits, tugs a brochure out of the rack and starts to write.</p><p>Xander studies the bulletin board and its array of posters – lost pet, wildlife walk, hiking course – until Ryoma offers him the brochure. "Thank you," he says then, turning toward him. "I will... email you later?" It's probably safer and more convenient. "Do you have a preference?"</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head. He's— closer than Xander had thought. "Email may be more reliable, but I have no preference."</p><p>"Very well." It's for the best, Xander repeats to himself. He looks at the neat line of writing again, and folds the brochure over it for safety's sake, creases it tidily so it will fit in a pocket. "Again, thank you. It's been a pleasure."</p><p>He should say something more. Ryoma is watching him. </p><p>Xander doesn't know what else to say that won't be horribly revealing, and horribly unwise. In the end he inclines his head – hesitates one last time – steps away.</p><p>The brochure feels unrealistically warm in the inner pocket of his jacket.</p><p>Outside feels dimmer, even though it's only been a few minutes since he was outside last. Automatically Xander tilts his face up to the sky. The sun still shines, still casts a broad strip of warmth across his skin. It won't last as long, this time of year, but it's still there.</p><p>He doesn't want to leave. </p><p>Slowly, purposefully, Xander heads to his car, and goes, and if it takes longer to pull his mind from that place than it does to drive to his next commitment… well. No one <em>else</em> has to know that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ryoma regrets at least one (1) life choice here, no prizes guessing which one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. after-woods</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Once Xander is gone, Kagero gets up, moves away. A few moments later Ryoma hears air moving through vents, and a fan clicks on somewhere in the building's ductwork.</p><p>"Thank you," he murmurs absently.</p><p>"Mmhm." Kagero moves around the desk. Ryoma tracks her mostly by sound, but the movement of air is beginning to clear Xander's scent from his nose. </p><p>Kagero opens one of the far closets to sort through the shelves, eventually comes back to press cloth into Ryoma's hands. "Saizo might like some clothes," she says, with a very faintly amused smile. "No bears?"</p><p>The tactile focus helps. Ryoma curls his fingers into the fabric and takes a deep breath of the rapidly cooling air. "No bears," he agrees. "Perhaps another time."</p><p>Very softly, Kagero laughs. She doesn't seem as concerned as Ryoma might have expected, given who was just here. He wonders about that as he steps outside.</p><p>Some few feet outside the entrance, in the shadow of a broad tree, there's a wolf waiting. He's a familiar deep reddish color, with lighter fur about his face and a scar that's turned one eye milky white. When he sees Ryoma he stands, stretches lazily, and paces over. </p><p>Ryoma drops the cloth over him. It's a yukata of slightly heavier fabric than is customary— it's really one of the most useful styles the pack has found, especially for getting into and out of in a hurry. Politely, Ryoma turns his head away as Saizo shifts. Mass rearranges, fur recedes, and Saizo shoves arms into sleeves as he stands, belting the yukata casually.</p><p>"Nothing out of the ordinary, I take it?" Ryoma asks. He suspects not much, if anything – Saizo would have appeared from the woods all teeth and anger if there was – but it gives Saizo room to volunteer his opinion.</p><p>Carefully, Saizo clears his throat. When Ryoma looks over again, Saizo is watching him sidelong, lone dark eye assessing. "No," he says. "Nothing too strange. I could hear his heart speed up, sometimes, but usually when you were speaking, not the other way around."</p><p>Rapid heartbeats on his own words might have meant Xander lying. For Ryoma's...?</p><p>It solves little, unfortunately, to know Xander is almost certainly still attracted to him. They still have opposed desires. And Ryoma doesn't know now whether to be pleased or disappointed that Xander didn't offer again. It's for the best that he didn't, truly, and yet nevertheless Ryoma wants.</p><p>Saizo watches Ryoma's face with some uncomfortable knowingness. "As long as you remember it's a bad idea," he says, low and gravelly. "I could smell you, too."</p><p>Thanks, Saizo. "I remember," Ryoma says, with all the dignity he can muster. "I have more than enough of my wits about me now, and I have already heard enough of this from my sister and from Mother. I… appreciate your concern."</p><p>Saizo is pack, so he has the right to that concern, even if he is not, precisely, a brother. Certainly not the way Takumi is. Enough that Ryoma will bristle at the implication Saizo might have a significant say in what he does about this.</p><p>But: he is pack, and the pack is Ryoma’s as Ryoma is the pack’s.</p><p>Some moments pass. Saizo glances down. "Not much else of note," he says. "A little bit of horse scent. Not much. Don't think he's even touched a gun in at least a month. What physical evidence there is agrees with what he was saying." Every word might as well be dragged out of him.</p><p>"But," Ryoma says, and waits for Saizo to fill it in.</p><p>"But I don't like it," Saizo says, "and I don't trust him. If we take that for granted, I can stop reminding you."</p><p>"I understand." Ryoma more or less does, in truth. He'll take the opinion into account, anyway, even if he doesn't agree with it. He must still consider all of the options.</p><p>There's a low hmph from Saizo, who lowers his head as though into a collar, and finds he has none. "Tell Kagero to remember a scarf next time."</p><p>Ryoma may do no such thing; but he, at the least, can hide a few extra scarves around. He could have sworn most clothing stashes the pack keeps around had them, anyway.</p><p>It's possible they've since been used for tug toys.</p><p>Ryoma goes home then, once Saizo has had his say. His head is clear enough to drive safely, and he's pretty sure Mother and Hinoka will want to know how things have gone.</p><p>Sakura is stretched out on his bed when he returns, all long legs and too-big paws and half-grown coat. She lifts her head to see him, licks her nose, and shoves her head under a blanket to go back to sleep.</p><p>This is why Ryoma has a large bed.</p><p>For the moment he puts off going to see Mother and Hinoka, instead joins Sakura. He tucks his head up against her side and breathes in the reassuring scent of pack, of family. Sakura sighs in response, content to paw at his hair for a moment and then subside.</p><p>His mind is too busy to nap. Ryoma stares at the ceiling, <em>now what</em> a circling refrain. What can he do, but go about his life as usual and wait by the phone? </p><p>It feels a little pathetic. Then again, this isn't precisely a high school crush.</p><p>He can look into the ranch, at least. Mother would surely recognize the name, and she'll at least be able to tell Ryoma something about whatever agreements they might have. Ryoma can follow that trail, and that's probably a few days' worth of research at least.</p><p>And then what?</p><p>His thoughts circle back, predictably, to Xander. If he has any more questions is hardly a guarantee of further contact. And Ryoma has not been able to establish, at all, where or even if Xander's father fits into his life. Understanding and respecting the ecological impact of wolf-hunting does not at all sound like Garon König.</p><p>Again, Ryoma thinks, he just doesn't know nearly enough. Surely learning more to establish if he is or isn't a threat would be important? Surely, if there were anyone who could tell them more about Garon, give the pack some evidence of his crime, it would be the son?</p><p>But: could and would are different things.</p><p>And so, Ryoma concludes yet again, he doesn't know enough. Again and again he comes back to this. Surely, with so many points on which it would be beneficial to know more, Ryoma cannot <em>only</em> be making excuses to be near Xander? Surely he is being logical, not only yearning?</p><p>He absolutely cannot nap like this. Regretfully, Ryoma gets up, ruffles Sakura's fur up, and goes to speak to Mother. Perhaps she'll be able to give his mind something useful to work on, not only circles.</p><p>Mother, it turns out, both does and doesn't have help to give. Ryoma relays what happened, his slow progress in coping with the strength of the scent, his and Saizo's conclusions. Ryoma knows his own impulse to trust should not be given nearly as much weight in this situation, but Saizo also tends not to trust anyone. Really, Ryoma feels, the two should balance out.</p><p>When he brings up Lady Ekaterin's, Mother's face goes all wistful again. "Yes," she says, "I knew Katerina. A determined woman. It's because of her that we were able to develop sound environmental practices for that ranch— policies which have been used as guidelines for others, in point of fact. I'll find the agreements and the details of the environmental impact efforts for you to look over."</p><p>"What happened to her, and the ranch?" Ryoma wants to know. "I know it changed hands, and it was closed for a while..."</p><p>All Mother can do is look sad. "She fell ill," she says. "That is all I know. The next thing we knew, your father and I, we were advised that the land was being kept in trust. No one could change it or parcel it or use it until the trustee came of age— I assume it must have been her son."</p><p>An interest. Yes, Ryoma would call this a little more than that.</p><p>"So nothing changed for several years," Mother goes on. "But a few years ago, I was contacted through a lawyer to renew the original agreement. He wouldn't identify his client – evidently he wanted to remain anonymous – but it led the way to re-opening the ranch on the same terms."</p><p>This jars some memory in Ryoma. "I think I remember that visit," he says tentatively. "I was— winter break?" He'd gone to college locally, for obvious reasons. Even in dorms, he could easily come home for breaks and wolf nights.</p><p>Mother nods an agreement. "It was about that time, yes."</p><p>The homework might explain why Ryoma doesn't remember much of this. </p><p>"If we assume, then, that Xander is Katerina's son – what does it mean that the name hasn't changed? That he's tried to stay anonymous?" Ryoma is finding the same problem all over again: he doesn't know enough.</p><p>"I'm not sure," Mother admits. "Perhaps if you follow the records of the land sale— I would wonder if he desired to be anonymous to everyone, or only to our family."</p><p>This is a start. This is something Ryoma can pursue without appearing in the woods surrounding the ranch as a wolf again. As – ugh – <em>Happy</em>.</p><p>Hell. Saizo heard Ryoma name himself Happy. If Saizo tells anyone else, Ryoma may never live it down.</p><p>He doesn't bring up the idea of checking in as a wolf with Mother. It isn't yet a question.</p><p>The next day, Mother hands Ryoma a folder full of the original and current agreements with Lady Ekaterin's ranch. He spends the day going over those instead of taking the trek out to city hall to see if he can find the sale records. </p><p>Takumi may actually be avoiding Ryoma at this point. He needs to do something about that as well. When he knows more. Perhaps tomorrow.</p><p>The agreements fall in two different categories: the environmental policies, which are a slim binder full of ethical and ecological recommendations so far as recycling, reliable local suppliers, and the most sustainable methods to use in the keeping of horses and maintenance of the ranch; and the shorter list of agreements regarding the more general courses of action between the ranch and the refuge— specifically, Mother. The trails are to follow established paths, certain products are not to be used, the owner of the ranch is to only admit people they trust, and Ryoma's family helps to maintain the trails, keep wildlife from interfering either way, and to redirect unwanted attention.</p><p>Ryoma hadn't precisely known that some of the longer trails technically <em>are</em> part of the reserve still, made available and possible explicitly because the ranch's impacts are kept minimum. Frankly more interesting to him are the notes on redirecting unwanted attention. There's text he doesn't want to focus on, which is a sure sign that Mother has been at work. </p><p>There is a little trick for this. Ryoma rubs at his eyes till they blur, sneaks up on the words as individual letters and assembles them into words in his head. Yes. Mother has agreed to take the ranch under her protection, nearly the way she has the house. And she didn't say as much, Ryoma assumes because she could not once she had made her promises. </p><p>This was her way of telling Ryoma.</p><p>One other thing Ryoma gets out of all this is that, even with Mother's protections of quiet and stealth and calm, the ranch doesn't get as much out of this as the reserve and the land's best interests do. It's hard work, to source for quality instead of cheapness, to follow up every little logistical puzzle until it is as refined as it can be, as good as it can be. Retroactively Ryoma admires Katerina; and he wonders, yet again, what to make of Xander, who is in theory maintaining both these policies and also anonymity.</p><p>It is as far as he can get with the documents at home. The next piece of research will be to see if he can find anything down at City Hall. </p><p>This all goes far too slowly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. head in the air</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite his best efforts, Xander sleepwalks through much of the rest of his day after the meeting with Ryoma.</p><p>Not literally, naturally. He drives safely enough; he gets through the business meeting mostly because his father, strict in his preferences, has provided a very firm list of talking points. This outline mostly requires Xander to be a closed-off wall and not endanger the land trade negotiations with anything that looks accommodating. </p><p>There was a time when Xander isn't sure he would have been trusted even this far. Perhaps his father trusts in Xander's abilities more than he did before.</p><p>Perhaps his father is simply too preoccupied even for something that was once this important.</p><p>Xander thinks of flowers and wolves, and manages not to make a fool of himself. </p><p>When he gets home his head is still all full of these things. Of Ryoma's gentle smile – no. No, that is too far into foolishness. Safer the wolf – safer <em>Happy</em>.</p><p>What a name. </p><p>The house is empty as ever, what few staff still on payroll long since gone for the day, the faint heat through the floorboards saying Camilla is in the middle of working. Xander could go down and sit with her, probably, and she would not object too strongly, but he would not be <em>there</em> with her, and Camilla would know this just as well as she knows Xander. </p><p>Xander ascends to the tower-window where Corrin likes to spend her time, when she's here. It feels something of a trespass, when he's not sure how long it will be before their sister comes home again, but it is the only closeness he can find right now. </p><p>She'd like the wolf he saw, he thinks. She likes most animals, and she's never seemed very scared by the idea of wolves, despite how they came to adopt her. </p><p>Then again, they haven't precisely had the opportunity to take her to the zoo. </p><p>From up here, Xander can see what seems like forever. The wild deep green-brown of the woods takes up some significant area on the horizon, in the distance beyond the more regimented neutral colors of city and suburbs. He leans his head against the window, and his breath fogs little obscuring patches on the glass.</p><p>He's been gone a little too much recently to feel like it would go unnoticed, if he went out again tonight, and again Xander has to remind himself that the odds of running into the same wolf, the same place, are minuscule. He asked about what to do if he should see the wolf again for a sense of security, not because he realistically believed it was going to happen.</p><p>But it did happen once. It was a true thing. Xander flexes his hands absently, wistfully. It is not the first time he has thought he should have taken his gloves off.</p><p>There is a pelt, he thinks, in his father's study. Just as quickly as he has had the idea, Xander puts it aside. It is a grisly thing, and would not be the same as the living wolf who seemed to think it his right to occupy Xander's lap.</p><p>But here is the trouble: when Xander turns his mind from wolves, he finds himself thinking of a braid with flowers, and of the way Ryoma's gentleness does not seem to make him any less, any weaker, only more of himself. And when he turns thoughts away from that before he can revisit the idea of the open shirt and the hints of skin below, his mind goes right back to the wolf, to the moon overhead and the weight of companionship heavy and warm against him. </p><p>The circle is a difficult one to escape. Xander drifts in a pleasant haze of daydreams that don't quite mingle, and all the while he knows this is foolishness, knows he's being unforgivably distracted and that all he's doing is giving himself hopes to dash later. It's just…</p><p>He is tired, and the house is still and empty of the liveliness that should be in it, and it is so, so easy to dream, and to forget why he is trying to have willpower against such fantasies.</p><p>What takes him out of twilight dreams, finally, is a near fever-heat against his back and side, and Xander has the feeling of being suddenly, solidly back in his body, as though he had been floating outside of it. "There you are," Camilla says, nearly in his ear, and she makes herself at home in the window-seat beside him. "I was starting to wonder." </p><p>"Hm?" Xander stirs himself to look sidelong at her. She's flushed with heat, still, and there's the faint grime about her that sticks no matter how careful one is in the forge. Altogether it doesn't look as though she's been looking for him, rather like she's just come from downstairs. "What is it?"</p><p>"I don't think you answered a single one of my texts today." This is a gentle thing, accompanied by a little tilt of her head. Camilla kneels up, reaches to crack the window open the little space it can go, and settles back down. "You must have been somewhere else entirely."</p><p>Normally, Xander is fairly attentive at least to his siblings' messages. They're set to break through do not disturb settings, just in case. He checks now, belatedly, and finds missed texts from Camilla, one missed call from Leo, no voicemails. </p><p>His head's been out in the woods, apparently; and now he's here. Xander shakes his head, which doesn't do all that much to clear it. "I am here," he says, and, "I am sorry I missed you. Was it important?" </p><p>Camilla reaches over and pats his knee – once, twice, and tucks her hand back into her own lap. "Call Leo, when you get a chance," she says. "Perhaps tomorrow, to account for time zones. He <em>should</em> be in bed by now."</p><p>In mute sympathy they consider their little brother's liking for late-night reading. </p><p>"Tomorrow," Xander agrees. He hadn't looked at his phone while he was out at the center; perhaps it suffers from the same poor cell signal as much of the wildlife refuge. "I would have come to see you when I got home, if I'd realized."</p><p>Camilla waves him off, head turned so she, too, can look out the window. "It's fine," she says easily. "Have you been up here this whole time? I thought I heard the door; but then I thought I must have imagined it."</p><p>Has Camilla rigged up some alarm system since Xander last checked, or is the din of her workshop in full steam less than Xander thinks it is? No matter. "I haven't done anything else yet," Xander admits. He is not, honestly, sure of the last time he ate, and he should be wiser than this. He normally is wiser than this. It's just that he's… </p><p>Pining. Yearning, if he wishes to be kinder to himself. Instead of focusing on what is, and what he may do with that, he dreams of past warmth and future might-bes. It's impracticality of the worst degree, the sort of hoping that may yet bring harm. </p><p>"I'm sure there's some dinner set aside in the fridge," Camilla says consolingly. Xander does not think she has missed his lapses, only that she is for the moment too kind to mention them.</p><p>"Mm," Xander agrees, and doesn't move to go and do anything about that. "Camilla— have you seen Father today?"</p><p>She thinks about it, tapping a finger to her lips. On anyone else it would be overexaggerated; this is just Camilla, as Camilla is. "Not in the shop, and not when I came up for lunch, either. Either I just missed him, or he's in his study."</p><p>If Camilla 'just missed him', it is by design. Xander sighs very faintly. This inset of the real world has no place in Corrin's garret, he thinks, and he pushes away from the window, turns and stretches his legs to stand. "I have notes from today's meetings for him," he says. He barely had the presence of mind to make them, but things deviated so little and went so smoothly he barely needed to. "But if he's in his study, then they will wait." </p><p>There were times when Father was interruptible, but they are fewer and much further between now.</p><p>Xander offers a hand to Camilla. "You said you came up for lunch. Dinner?"</p><p>Camilla laughs, low and impish. "You caught me. Shall we, then?" Only a little reluctantly she shuts the window again, sets her hand in his and gets to her feet. She's still warm, but at a more reasonable temperature now, not the almost alarming heat of earlier. </p><p>They do find dinner in the fridge, covered and cool enough that it's been there for a while. Camilla only bothers to turn on one light, and she and Xander move around each other without missing a step, heating food and finding utensils in a dance they are long accustomed to. </p><p>"Will I be aghast if I ask where your mind was?" Camilla finally wonders, with only a quick eyeflick up across her plate. Xander doesn't bother to sit; Camilla bounces near the granite counter no more than thrice, and uses that little momentum to hop up and settle herself perching on the counter. </p><p>There are situations in which this would never be dared.</p><p>"Nowhere," Xander murmurs.</p><p>"Oh, Xander," she says, and her voice is rich with sympathy, for she has taken his meaning correctly. "You aren't."</p><p>"I am not," Xander says, as though saying it will make it more so. He is not. He has met the man lingering in his thoughts a grand total of twice, even if he does have his number; and he has met the wolf once. He is not doing anything stupid. He's only wishing he could.</p><p>He likes Ryoma too well to date him, anyway. It took Xander three potential partners to learn that lesson, and even now he curses that it took him that long to realize <em>why</em> the first had gone. </p><p>Camilla does not look like she believes Xander. She taps fork against plate, almost flicks her hair back and then decides against. "Xander," she says, and pauses again, mouth shaping words not quite said and finally only a lovely frown.</p><p>"I am taking an interest in conservation," Xander says, with dignity. "We have several charitable contributions on the books in that regard. I am being appropriately judicious about my research on those counts."</p><p>He reads her worry in the set of her face, but she says no more. Xander changes the subject.</p><p>"Father didn't say no when I inquired if Corrin might come home for Christmas." This is a hopeful thing. And it is not much of Xander being stupid, unless he overextends himself and presses where he should not. "We have a little while yet, before a final decision must be made. It's possible." </p><p>"Oh," Camilla says, willingly following the subject. "That <em>is</em> lovely. I suppose it's too soon to hope in earnest?"</p><p>"I'll let you know when I know any more." He wishes he had something more to give her than that.</p><p>"Do let me know if you need my help," she says, smiling now. "It feels like I haven't seen our darling Corrin in years." It's only been months, but that is a long 'only.'</p><p>"Of course." Xander doesn't mean to ask her for any help at all. It's better if he's the one who prods at Father's boundaries, when such things must be done. </p><p>Once, he thinks, things were not this way. He still remembers an affectionate father, little golden moments in the sunshine of his childhood when Father was proud of his progress, or took an interest in Xander's own interests. They are dimmer with each passing day, but Xander cannot say he imagined them. That Father is still there somewhere, isn't he?</p><p>"Camilla?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>Words stick in Xander's throat. <em>It wasn't always like this, was it?</em> he wants to ask. Camilla is closer to him in age than Leo; even being of different mothers, even with everything, if anyone would be able to clear this doubt it would be her. </p><p>Even here, even now, the soft fall of her hair hides parts of her face. Camilla tilts her head inquisitive, and it does nothing to change that. </p><p>"…never mind," Xander says. The lasagne needs the microwave again, and it is his role to protect his siblings, not ask for theirs in turn. "All is well enough."</p><p>"Hmmm." Camilla draws out the syllable as though she doesn't entirely believe him, but she lets it rest. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. land use and ice cream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma's only gotten as far as getting into the car when Takumi shows up, hunching into a scarf as he stakes his claim on the passenger seat. </p><p>"Ah," Ryoma says blankly. What is Takumi doing here. "Good morning, Takumi."</p><p>Takumi makes a noncommittal sound and sinks further into the seat. Ryoma turns on the seat warmers and pulls out of the garage in short order. For now, Takumi stays silent.</p><p>They are out to the highway, heading into town past evergreens and branches growing barer, when the silence finally starts to shift. "Where are we going?" Takumi wants to know.</p><p>Ryoma is overcome with a deep fondness for his stubborn, ridiculous baby brother. "City hall," he says. "As a start. I want to track down some land sale records."</p><p>"Oh." Takumi sits on this a while, digesting the concept. "Can you open the window?"</p><p>Ryoma cracks the window on Takumi's side. In direct, automatic response, Takumi turns his face that way, inhales deeply. He wouldn't be the first wolf of the pack to demand to stick his head out the window for a car trip.</p><p>There's enough time for Ryoma to wonder whether or not he should pre-empt Takumi. Surely this is about the scent-bond issue; surely Takumi, old enough to remember their father but never old enough to run with him, will not be able to stand this. And yet: Ryoma doesn't at all know how to broach the topic.</p><p>The road goes by, and by, and by.</p><p>"I don't get why you won't even try breaking it," Takumi says finally, low and sullen. "Orochi knows people. She could work something out."</p><p>"Just changing his shampoo for mint or – something – won't do much," Ryoma says, even enough despite the lurch in his chest. "Aconite is poisonous to most people, not only wolves. On the whole, there aren't many products any scent-breakers can be worked into; and if you would care to convince him to wear a sachet of wild mint, wolfsbane, and possibly cinnamon for a week, you are welcome to try." He'd like to hear the justification Takumi would offer for this peculiarity, mostly; he doesn't actually want Takumi to try.</p><p>Takumi scowls. He tucks his chin, doesn't look either out the window or at Ryoma. "He'd do it if you asked."</p><p>Ryoma opens his mouth and has no words. How in the world has Takumi come to that conclusion? "You haven't even met him."</p><p>The eyeroll in return is vast and expressive. "Hinoka said Saizo said he likes you. If he likes you, he'll go with weirder stuff than normal, right? It's worth a try. If he thinks you're stupid, whatever, who cares what he thinks, and— and why are you acting like you <em>want</em> to be bonded to this asshole?"</p><p>Ryoma knows when he's close to Xander, his judgment is clouded, but here and now, he feels like he's thinking clearly. And he does recognize that he <em>isn't</em>, when he's swamped in Xander's scent. For the most part. He hasn't done anything too foolish yet, at any rate, and he's getting better. If there's some more subtle influence even now... that he can't tell. He chews this over until Takumi clears his throat.</p><p>"You missed your exit."</p><p>"I can fix it," Ryoma says, grateful for the intervention, and aims for the next one. </p><p>"You didn't answer me," Takumi grumbles.</p><p>Ryoma didn't answer him. Now he has to. "Father had the same thing," he says. "With Mother. That wasn't a bad thing. The only reason you're bringing this up is his last name. If Xander was anyone else, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because we would trust the wolf and the pack’s instincts. Those instincts haven't been wrong before, have they?"</p><p>Takumi growls low in his throat, somehow pushing further back into his seat. "Yeah? Then why do we even know how to break scent-bonds before they're complete?" Something horrifying seems to occur to him then, and he starts upright, grunts as the seatbelt pulls him back. "Tell me you didn't—"</p><p>"No," Ryoma interrupts, before Takumi can follow that thought to an out-loud question. Neither of them wants that. "No, it's— incomplete."</p><p>"Good." Vaguely mollified, Takumi slumps back again. "FIne."</p><p>"And I don't <em>want</em> to break it," Ryoma says. He's admitting it to himself as much as Takumi. "There's a good chance it'd make him smell repulsive, instead." It's not just a way to clear Ryoma's head— breaking a scent-bond is an overruling of wolf nature by human, and in most things they strive for balance and harmony. In his – admittedly limited – understanding of how these things work, a strong draw needs something equally strong to null or repel it.</p><p>"So?" Takumi demands. "That's not actually a problem. Why do you care?"</p><p>But it is a problem. Ryoma navigates the roads and turns required with some care, mulling everything over as he goes. "I like him," he says finally, simply. He can justify it a million ways from Sunday, but that's the ultimate size of it. "As annoying as constantly having the urge to cuddle him is—"</p><p>"—Ew," Takumi contributes, like an adult.</p><p>"—I know how to cope with that," Ryoma continues, more or less serenely. "And I would rather that than be forced to avoid him. He's said he doesn't want anything long-term right now. I'm going to respect that."</p><p>With an incredulous sound, Takumi slaps his hand down on the car door. "You can't trust him! Why the hell are you setting yourself up to pine for him?"</p><p>The only reason Ryoma is maintaining any semblance of his calm is the knowledge that he and Takumi share the same wounds. All down the way, this is response to their father's death, the grief of his loss and the gap still keenly felt. Fifteen years on and Ryoma still doesn't think he fills the gap his father left. </p><p>He doesn't say anything else until they've stopped, until he's pulled into a parking spot with abbreviated precision. The final application of brakes is sudden and sharp. </p><p>Ryoma flexes his fingers on the steering wheel and finally, gently, tilts forward to rest his forehead against it. This is as it's going to be with much of the pack, he thinks; but Takumi, the most. "He doesn't know anything," Ryoma says. "Not of wolves, not of pack. I'm not giving him any of our secrets. I'm not putting my life in his hands. I'm only— being around him, sometimes, and offering advice on sound ecological practices. I don't have to trust him for that." But he does, anyway, regardless, stupid as it may be. "The strongest rush is past. I'm not pining, I'm just— taking what I can get."</p><p>"But—!"</p><p>"And even if I was, that would still be my choice to make," Ryoma says firmly. "Takumi, please. I have the whole pack to be suspicious for me. Please trust me on this, even if it's just a little."</p><p>"But," Takumi says again, and Ryoma's ears prick to the sound of a sharply indrawn breath. "But. What if it isn't enough? What if he's lying? What if he really <em>does</em> like you but lures you off to kill you anyway because his dad said so?"</p><p>Between the sound of his breaths and the staggering, racing cadence of his voice over the cascading what-ifs, Ryoma finally works out what this <em>actually</em> is. A look sideways confirms it; Takumi's eyes are wide and damp, and he's looking past Ryoma instead of at him, and his skin is pale. Still mostly human. These are human fears and imaginings, unbalanced ones.</p><p>Takumi wasn't there that night. The fear of horses and guns and men astride horses riding them down isn't seared into him quite the same way. Somehow, Ryoma wonders if that's worse, only having the imaginings.</p><p>His tactile impulse runs afoul of seatbelts. Ryoma fumbles a little over unbuckling and unlocking, but from there it's an easy trip to walk around the car and pull open Takumi's door. For a moment Ryoma wonders if he'll have to do it-- but no, Takumi is unbuckling himself, slow and dazed, and immediately when he's free Ryoma reaches for him, drags him out of the car and  up into a hug.</p><p>Someone might see. Ryoma doesn't care. He rests his head on top of Takumi's, bowed so he can inhale scent clearly. Takumi is winter storms and the particular clear bite of a cold bare sky, chill winds and post-snow freshness. Ryoma's breath out stirs the ash-silver of his hair.</p><p>Takumi stays limply frozen for several seconds before his arms come up around Ryoma in turn.</p><p>Ryoma wishes he could, in truth, promise simply not to die, but he doesn't think Takumi would believe it. "Xander isn't his father," he says. "And I'm not our father. I'll be careful, Takumi, I promise. I'm doing my research. I have Saizo to keep an eye on things at the worst. But I'm not going to hide from something that might be wonderful just because there's also a chance of things going badly. I believe there's more than enough goodness there to try."</p><p>All the response he gets at first is Takumi curling fingers into his shirt, ducking his head to burrow sulkily. Ryoma waits.</p><p>Eventually: "But you <em>could</em> die."</p><p>"I could live," Ryoma says. Both possibilities exist. "In all the time I've been near Xander, I haven't seen or even smelled his father once." </p><p>None of them will forget that scent.</p><p>"Hmmmngh," Takumi says, unconvinced. "But you don't know. It's more likely he's like his father, isn't it?"</p><p>Ryoma tugs gently on Takumi's ponytail. "You're our mother's pup, too," he says, and he doesn't mean Mikoto. "Please give it a chance, Takumi. You don't even have to talk to him."</p><p>Slowly Takumi unwinds himself, smearing one wide sleeve across his face. "I do if you start dating him," he says, making a disgusted expression to suit. "Ugh."</p><p>Ryoma eases at this. It is, after all, a <em>sort</em> of acceptance. "We're not dating," he says. "I'm respecting his choices."</p><p>"He's dumb if he doesn't want you," Takumi opines, pulling his scarf up. Ryoma more or less appreciates the redirection of energies. "What are we here for again? Land stuff?"</p><p>"Land stuff," Ryoma agrees, obligingly hiding his amusement about the rapid turnaround. He locks the car, catches up to Takumi, and together they head up the stairs into city hall. "The sale of land is usually a matter of public record. So is the zoning, legal boundaries, and so on."</p><p>"This is a weird errand," Takumi says, and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Okay, what land are you trying to find the records for?"</p><p>"You know the ranch to the west of the forest?" Ryoma lets Takumi think that over while he gets directions to the records room.</p><p>"I think so?" Takumi sounds more than a little dubious about his own knowledge. "I don't think I've ever really been out that way, but I've heard people talk about it at home. Was it shut down for a while or something?" </p><p>"The woman who owned it died, I think, and there was some trouble in the changing of ownership. That's what I want to see if there are records of," Ryoma explains, and starts leading them back.</p><p>"Oh." Takumi digests this as he follows. "Why's this ranch important? Just because it borders our land?" A pause. "Wait, was that the door we wanted?"</p><p>"I think it's the next one." Ryoma shakes his head. "Technically, we're only the caretakers."</p><p>"Close enough." Takumi waves a hand, and is not distracted from his initial query. "Why this ranch?"</p><p>Ryoma opens the correct door, waves Takumi in ahead of him. Takumi immediately sneezes; Ryoma's only a few seconds behind him. </p><p>"They could <em>digitize</em>," Takumi complains, blotting at his watering eyes.</p><p>"Municipal governments," Ryoma says, as if that explains everything. "I don't know if the ranch's name has changed, but it was Lady Ekaterin's, and it reopened about five years ago. I think the street address would be on... it's Paladin Way that's closest, out to the west."</p><p>"Are you sure it's not Pasadena?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," Ryoma admits. "Just help me look, please. I'll explain when we find the papers."</p><p>Takumi stalks off to the other end of the room, muttering about cryptic elder brothers as he starts to heave at filing cabinets. Time passes in the creak of metal sliding and the rustling of file folders opened and replaced, one after another. Ryoma gives himself more papercuts than is really optimal. At least they close quickly.</p><p>"Hey," Takumi says finally, maybe hours later. "I think this is it? But it's weird."</p><p>Oh, good. </p><p>Ryoma comes over, and Takumi opens the folder up properly, laying it out on top of the drawer between them. "This is the original owner, right? Or her trust, whatever. Katerina Alfstrom." He pauses, glances up. "Not Ekaterin?"</p><p>"I think it's Russian," Ryoma says absently. "What's weird?"</p><p>Takumi turns the folder around to face Ryoma, points to the sale details. "If it's from a trust or a will or however they did it, then it should just be given to the trustee, right? But this is a sale. And it's a sale to a weird company I've never heard of, for a <em>dollar</em>. If they had to, I dunno, auction the land off to pay a dead person's debt or something, you'd think they'd get more than a dollar. The whole thing is, again, super weird."</p><p>For as many times as Takumi has said 'weird,' Ryoma can't actually disagree with his assessment.</p><p>"And why'd it take so long, anyway?" Apparently, Takumi's only getting warmed up. "You said this Katerina woman died a while ago, and it took some time to change over, right?"</p><p>"It was at least seventeen years ago, according to Mother," Ryoma says. The company name doesn't ring a bell: Siegfried Schwert, LLC. It's German. That's about all he can tell. That and a vague recollection of a fairy tale involving dragons.</p><p>"Yeah," says Takumi, "so what the hell was the trustee or the company or someone's dumb lawyer doing for twelve years, starting a red tape farm?"</p><p>Ryoma laughs at the mental image, but only briefly. Takumi's raised several questions that Ryoma just doesn't have answers for.</p><p>"Does this tell you what you wanted to know?" Takumi wants to know. He's not looking at Ryoma; he's frowning at his phone now. Ryoma can just see a blank screen refusing to load. "You said you were going to explain after we found the papers."</p><p>"That depends," Ryoma says. "What are you trying to look up?"</p><p>"This Alfstrom lady, but the service here is terrible."</p><p>Ryoma digs his own phone out so he can take quick snapshots of everything in the file. This may or may not be illegal. At the moment he doesn't precisely care. "Let's go outside, then."</p><p>Takumi gives him an impressively impatient look, but he goes with it.</p><p>Outside on the front steps, he plonks himself down cross-legged to scroll through Google results. "Oh," he says finally. "Okay, here's her obituary—"</p><p>The next sound out of his mouth is rumbling, not entirely human. Ryoma leans down to tug Takumi's phone somewhere he can actually see it, and reads blandly kind words about Katerina Alfstrom's prolonged fatal illness, and how she is survived only by her estranged ex-husband and their son, Xander König.</p><p>"Ah," Ryoma says, and sits down next to Takumi, one knee drawn up to rest his arm on it. That’s confirmation, then. No further margin for error regarding those links, and surely the last of Mother’s secrets – on <em>that</em> front, anyway – brought out into the open. “I wonder why he wanted to keep it anonymous."</p><p>Takumi continues to almost-growl for a moment. Ryoma bumps his shoulder, keeps talking. "People use LLCs to maintain anonymity with reasonable frequency. The record of the sale might be kept public, but the company's records are explicitly private."</p><p>Slowly, the rumbling recedes. Takumi stares down at the phone, finally scrolls back up. There's a picture there – black and white, but the fairness of the woman's hair suggests Xander's. Ryoma wants to know if his will curl the same way, grown longer. </p><p>"So you think he's Mr. Siegfried Schwertz or whatever?" Takumi asks finally, not quite tripping over the German. "Why?"</p><p>"When we were talking, the other day, he said his mother had an "interest," but he didn't specify who she was. And he knew something about the ranch's environmental policies, which I can't imagine the average student does," Ryoma explains. "Mother says she knew Katerina, too. It wasn’t hard to assume Xander was probably her son. So if Katerina owned this ranch, and left it to her son when she died, why did it take so long to go to him, and what made him keep it anonymous?" Ryoma leans back on his hands, stretches his legs out down the stairs. "If he owns it now, which I think he does, he doesn't want anyone to know he does."</p><p>Takumi is quiet for a long time. Clouds scud slowly across the sky, blue slowly giving way to gray as Ryoma watches. Finally Takumi adds, "Not even his father. ...Right? The König name isn't anywhere near this."</p><p>Ryoma nods. "Mother said when the land changed hands, she was approached by a lawyer acting as legal representative, to see that the text of the old agreement would still be acceptable."</p><p>"It doesn't make any sense," Takumi mutters, grumpy. "Why wouldn't he want his father to know about a stupid horse ranch?"</p><p>Ryoma thinks about predatory land deals and real estate developments in areas that can't afford it, and he wonders. There could well be reasons. They take it for granted Garon König is the scum of the earth, and that justice for Father's murder will be a long time coming if ever, but... perhaps there's something elsewhere. Mob bosses and tax evasion, as it were.</p><p>"I do not think he quite trusts his father as we did ours," Ryoma says finally. "I would guess he wasn't told about the ranch being his until he could legally own it himself, but beyond that… I have only speculation."</p><p>Takumi wrinkles his face up in disdain. "I don't like it," he says, just a touch more petulant than sullen. "What kind of family hides things from each other like that?" </p><p>"Anyone would want to hide things from someone like that," Ryoma says. "But—" He doesn't immediately find the but.</p><p>"Does he know, then?" Takumi frowns some more, starts picking at the end of his scarf. "You don't hide stuff from someone unless you think you need to, right? And I guess this is— just land and horses, okay. But if he thinks his dad is someone like that, someone he <em>has</em> to hide even dumb stuff from, why hasn't he done something? How could you just keep going like that?"</p><p>Ryoma thinks he sees what Takumi's getting at, even if it's maybe a little awkwardly phrased. "We don't know how much he knows about anything," he says. "I don't even know how close he is to his father. I think there's enough to be sure Xander isn't like his father in many ways that matter. Whether or not he knows some things – if he's complicit – I don't know. And I can't know unless I get to know him." Xander seems about Ryoma's age— how old would he have been when Father was murdered? Thirteen, fourteen?</p><p>"Ugh," Takumi says promptly, and gets up, dusting his seat off. "Come on. You owe me ice cream."</p><p>"You're the one who invited yourself along," Ryoma says. This is, however, the only argument he offers. "Walking?"</p><p>Takumi nods. "I want the scents," he says, tugging his scarf down.</p><p>Ryoma judges this is fair enough. They head off into downtown proper, Takumi double-checking directions for ice cream and deciding he will graciously allow for frozen yogurt if it becomes strictly necessary. "This is all messy," he complains as they go, sidestepping a pedestrian going the other way. "We know his dad's basically evil. Our father wasn't, and you're like Father. It's— ugh."</p><p>"Complicated?" Ryoma offers.</p><p>Takumi elbows him, turns his head to track the scents from a food cart selling hot dogs as they pass. "No, not that. I mean— yes, but no." Ryoma waits a little longer for him to work this out. They don't stop for the hot dogs.</p><p>They're two blocks further on before Takumi finds the word he wanted. "It's easier," he says, shoulders coming up. "And it's safer. To assume he's just evil like his dad. But you like him. And your – other instincts like him. And all this other stuff is – <em>weird</em>."</p><p>"I believe we've established that," Ryoma says dryly.</p><p>"Bizarre, then," Takumi says without missing a beat. "I'm trying to make a point here."</p><p>"Go on."</p><p>With a huff, Takumi does. "There's so many fuzzy spots on this whole ranch thing alone he might as well be part wolf. I can't guess if he's good or evil or what," he says. "Which... I guess just makes him a person."</p><p>"Yes," Ryoma agrees, when silence seems to stretch on, and this conclusion Takumi has reached sits alone in the air. "I cannot, and do not wish to, simply write him off."</p><p>"I'm getting that," Takumi says, just a touch morosely. "The whole thing is. Complicated."</p><p>"People are that," Ryoma says with a sigh. "I'm afraid I'm not going to have any good answers for you any time soon."</p><p>"Yeah," Takumi agrees. "Guess you'll have to get me ice cream instead."</p><p>It isn't going to solve anything, but it usually does serve as a good salve. They don't talk about anything more important than ice cream flavors and the merits of ice cream versus frozen yogurt until they're back in the car. Takumi beats Ryoma to the seat warmer switch. </p><p>"I would have turned it on anyway," Ryoma says mildly. Of all the things Takumi could choose to try to beat him at.</p><p>Takumi makes a face at him in turn; but when he does say something, it's a far cry from the bickering Ryoma expects. "You want to try to get to know him, right? So you can figure out how much he knows?"</p><p>"Ideally," Ryoma says. "Yes. Why?"</p><p>"How're you going to do that?" he wants to know. "It kind of sounds like you can't actually date him, which is kind of the traditional way."</p><p>Therein lies Ryoma's problem. "Hinoka presented me as a wolf expert via the rehab center," he says. "It's a start. He's interested in learning more."</p><p>Takumi chokes on his laughter. "Wolf expert," he manages, wheezing, a few moments later. "<em>Wolf expert</em>."</p><p>Ryoma is vastly, intimately aware of the irony here. "Yes," he says wearily. "Wolf expert. But that will only work so long as he continues to have questions. Anything further, I don't know."</p><p>"Hmm," Takumi says. "I guess you can't really stalk him. Be nice to see if he acts the same when he doesn't think you're watching."</p><p>"You have a suspicious nature, little brother." But Ryoma would be lying if he said he had not had some similar thoughts himself; and again, yet again, his considerings drift toward 'Happy.'</p><p>"Yeah, well, someone's got to around here," Takumi mutters, and he burrows down in his seat again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. pre-flight checks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: Nohr fam issues. past child abuse implied, present parental abuse of adult offspring. unreliable narrator has a Day.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s always a sort of tension in the air before Father leaves for a little while, and this time is no different. </p>
<p>It wouldn't be the first business trip he's taken, not by a long shot, but lately he's been passing more and more business matters to Xander. So either whatever draws him forth is more important than can be trusted to his eldest son and theoretical heir, even at this stage, or it is related to what has kept him closeted and absorbed more and more as months and years go on. Xander doesn't care to bet, and doesn't dare to ask. He's barely seen Father in the last two weeks, even to pass on notes from those things Xander has taken care of on his behalf.</p>
<p>Now, since he's going away, Father wants to talk to Xander.</p>
<p>Xander can't think how long it's been since he was last invited into Father's study. The careful pages of notes he's been taking from working matters are stacked on a table near the door, one that's overflowing with other such papers, balanced on binders labeled along the spine as older accounting books. The table space along the left side of the room is all much the same, overtaken with things that haven't seen much use in some time; the bookshelves on the right side range from real estate and leadership to things with odd bindings and harder to read titles, and the only places dust hasn't accumulated are with the latter. </p>
<p>He doesn't look at Father's work desk. </p>
<p>There's something about Father, as he moves from shelf to desk and back again, but Xander can't quite lay a finger on what it is, only that Father even still does not look quite the same as the last Xander saw him, over the dinner table and asking about Corrin coming home for Christmas. It hasn't been all that long, and yet. </p>
<p>Xander links his hands behind his back, tight enough the seams of his gloves are sure to leave imprints in his fingers. "You wanted to see me, Father," he says. Shoulders down, back straight. </p>
<p>"Ah," Father says. "Xander." </p>
<p>He stills with his hands on one large book, spread across the open pages. Xander can see images, old ink paintings of a bow and a sword, and then he does not look at the book. Father's eyes on him are grey as his hair, grey as the winter clouds. </p>
<p>(Contrast: the lingering thought of a warm weight on his thigh, and the cold press of an inquisitive nose.)</p>
<p>Xander puts his mind very firmly in the present moment. Father, and the business trip, and a scent he can't quite place, something old and sharp all at once. "Was there anything you needed me to take care of while you're away?" </p>
<p>"A few things." Father rests there for several moments nevertheless, fingers absently moving on the page, before something further seems to occur to him. He turns away, sorts through some papers in the stacks by the far wall. He comes up with a folder— no, two, Xander sees. Father holds them back toward Xander, flicks the sheafs of paper in an easily readable imperious gesture. </p>
<p>Long practice means Xander doesn't grimace. He crosses the space between them instead, unlinks his hands and reaches for the folders. </p>
<p>Altogether, Xander isn't particularly surprised when Father snags his right wrist. The folders are set aside for a moment, and Xander observes with a resigned sort of detachment as Father tugs his glove off. "Hmph," Father says, tilting Xander's palm to look more closely.</p>
<p>There's a mark there which Xander doesn't look at if he can avoid it. Now he does, if only because Father is focusing on it as well, and there is no point in pretending it doesn't exist. </p>
<p>The dark red birthmark looks like a sword – or it used to. Now it's something smaller, twisted, like someone took that same sword and heated it to melting, tempered it again with lazy haste. There's faint scarring around it, patches of shinier skin long since healed, relics of Father's previous attempts to rid Xander of the mark. </p>
<p>Xander still has most of the range of motion; he was conscientious on each occasion it was healing. He still doesn't know what offends Father so about it, only that the first time Father saw the sword, back when Xander was thirteen or so, he had been furious. He'd never seen Father so angry, flipped from something loud and extravagant to a cold, controlled purpose.</p>
<p>(Thirteen, Xander recalls, is when the mark had appeared. But— it's a birthmark. No, surely it must have always been there, only that it darkened as he aged.)</p>
<p>"Disappointing," Father says, "but not unexpected." He breathes out a distinctly annoyed sigh, scrapes at the mark almost absently as though he can lift it from Xander's skin with nails alone. </p>
<p>He can't. They already know this. </p>
<p>But that is all there is. Xander had expected worse. Perhaps it doesn't mean so much to Father as it used to? </p>
<p>Father sneers, and slaps the glove into Xander's hand as he lets go. The folders go on top of that. "There are notes on a project here for Camilla, and a schedule for you. Keep to them." </p>
<p>"Of course," Xander murmurs, as blandly as he knows how. He doesn't pause to put the glove back on right now, only takes it, tucks the folders into the crook of his elbow and inclines his head and shoulders. "I will see to things." </p>
<p>"See that you do." Father moves a few further things on the work table, not dismissing Xander yet. He closes the book, sorts through some smaller items Xander can't quite see. </p>
<p>Xander waits. His hand aches. </p>
<p>It's only a couple of minutes longer before Father turns to him more sharply, brows drawn down and face lined. (Has he always looked this old?) "What have you been into?" he says sharply. He still has something in one of his hands – yellowed-white, curving. Perhaps a fang of something larger than—</p>
<p>Xander isn't thinking about that. He shakes his head. "I don't know what you mean."</p>
<p>"Hm," Father says, vastly and obviously dubious. Xander does not expect to be able to talk him out of this, so he simply stands still, waits unflinching and tight-shouldered as Father eyes him over. </p>
<p>It seems like Father's looking for something.</p>
<p>Whatever it is, he doesn't find it immediately. There is no more puttering, however, only intent as Father unlocks a drawer and, with a deft press at a spot Xander can't quite see, lifts the bottom out. He reaches into the hidden compartment under, and comes up with a squat crystal vial of some dark, viscous red liquid.</p>
<p>Father holds it up to the light, taps the side thoughtfully to jar a bubble loose. Xander shivers involuntarily. </p>
<p>"Hm," Father says again, frowning further. Xander tries to match this greyed scowl to the man he knew as a child, lines up the shape of his mouth and the crow's feet at the edges of his eyes.</p>
<p>Not quite. </p>
<p>"What is it?" Xander asks finally, for the waiting will drive him mad surer than whatever Father is thinking. </p>
<p>Father swats at him in absent annoyance, but he's misjudged the reach, doesn't make contact. "You haven't touched anything – anyone – unusual in the last few weeks?" </p>
<p>(Thick dark fur he should have taken his gloves off.)</p>
<p>"Nothing unusual," Xander says, unhesitating.</p>
<p>It is not the first time he has lied to his father; but he has never done it quite so blatantly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something sparks through Xander, a quick staccato – sharp and prickling, nothing he’s felt before. Hand, thigh—anywhere the wolf touched. Xander bites the inside of his cheek and waits unmoving. The sensation goes away as if it was never there, as if Xander imagined it.</p>
<p>"Hm," Father says again finally. He still sounds suspicious, but less so, and he goes about putting things away again. "I suppose you haven't."</p>
<p>In that moment, Xander swears he hasn't.</p>
<p>"Handle those things, then," Father goes on, flicking an empty hand at Xander. "I'm leaving for the airport in a few hours; I do not require accompaniment. Go." </p>
<p>"I understand," Xander says. No response isn't entirely acceptable, but he barely trusts himself with more, numb-tongued and head fogged. </p>
<p>He's missing something. What was there to miss? Nothing. But he's missing something.</p>
<p>Xander backs out of the study, closes the door careful quiet. He stands there breathing for a few moments -- just in case Father needs something further, changes his mind about telling Xander to go--</p>
<p>Nothing. Xander goes upstairs, sets the folders on his bed and pulls the glove back on as a final closure to the exchange. His shoulders ache. Xander tries to relax his posture, finds that somewhere in the interim he's grown too stiff to do so.</p>
<p>What was he missing, then? </p>
<p>A wolf surely counts as something unusual, especially one as friendly as that. But that— that is Xander's. That is only his. Surely it would make no difference to Father, anyway, that Xander has touched a wild animal. He would have been asking after people, or odd meetings, irregularities with the business matters Xander has been handling.</p>
<p>Yes. That makes more sense.</p>
<p>Xander thinks about sitting down, perhaps even laying down. He aches enough he'd like to, like restraining himself earlier was more taxing than the alternative. Not yet, though. Father is still here. Later; later. </p>
<p>So Xander stands there, and breathes, and perhaps shudders once or twice, and then he goes to see where Camilla is, and if Father has had anything to say to her. Once Father has gone, Xander can collapse, or...</p>
<p>The ranch. He'd have to wait longer, be sure Father has boarded his plane and not turned around, and Xander wants to rest; but just as surely he isn't sure how long he can stand to stay in this house, like this, trying to see memories in every corner they aren't.</p>
<p>For the ranch, for the horses and the clean air and the utter safety, Xander can stay on his feet a little longer. </p>
<p>He passes a little time with Camilla, goes over the details of the next project Father has lined up. Camilla sketches out some thoughtful twisted lines in moebius patterns, discards nearly all of them. She doesn't, Xander thinks, look entirely happy about the current task. "It's not <em>elegant</em>," she says with a little moue, "but there's not very much I can do about that, with these specifications. Really, what is Father thinking."</p>
<p>Xander wishes he knew. If he could understand what Father was thinking, could predict what Father wants, life would be— significantly easier, where he is concerned, and where the matter of taking care of his siblings is concerned.</p>
<p>When Father has left, it is as though the entire house has let a breath out. </p>
<p>Xander passes time tucked into the corner of the shop, reviewing his own notes – business matters he's expected to handle, and handle gracefully, within the next week. There's a faint tremor in his hands, he notes with an absent sort of remove. It really would be better if he rested sooner rather than later, but by now he has his heart set on retreating to the ranch. He may doze a little, in the comforting warmth, but the sounds of Camilla's occupation don't lend themselves to restfulness for people who aren't Camilla.</p>
<p>Three hours should be enough, shouldn't it? </p>
<p>"I'll be back tomorrow," he says aloud. It's the most he feels like saying, and it's quiet, the absolute quietest he can get and still have Camilla hear him. Slowly Xander gets to his feet, grimacing at the ache in a variety of his muscles. </p>
<p>The bandsaw stills, stops humming. "Of course," Camilla says lightly, fondly. When Xander glances over at her, she is smiling, head tilted just a little. "Hiding yourself away?" </p>
<p>Despite all his best efforts, it's impossible to hide it entirely from his siblings when he’s gone any longer than a day. By now Xander well knows none of his siblings begrudge it, and they say nothing to Father, either. Each of them has their own little solaces, their own private interests, and there is a balance between knowing and not asking. As Xander does not ask where Camilla sometimes goes with her motorcycle, as he does not ask what, precisely, Leo finds in the many libraries he has disappeared into, so they do not ask about the specifics of his own vanishing. </p>
<p>Xander nods to Camilla. He wants to say something – reassuring. Helpful. The words stick in his throat, and terribly, Camilla has only sympathy to show him. He goes before that soft understanding can become more reflection of inadequacy than the comfort it should be.</p>
<p>He will acknowledge that he probably shouldn't be driving in this mood, but he does anyway, and at least he <em>knows</em> the road to the ranch; knows it from all the times his mother took him when he was young, knows it from his own travels of the path. The closer he gets, the more weight lifts from his shoulders, and the straighter the road ahead seems. </p>
<p>Turning onto the grounds proper feels more like coming home than anything else. </p>
<p>He takes the car up to the house – barely deserving of that name, as it's more bedrooms and office space than anything else, but he could live there if the situation occasioned. Sometimes he thinks about it; but then what would his family do? No. He cannot simply run here and hide forever, as tempting as it is.</p>
<p>The gravel lot is closer to the back door than the front. Opting for a minimum of effort, Xander locks the car and heads that way, stifling a yawn. He has no idea how long ago the sun set, only that the bare sliver of moon above instils a strange yearning in him, and that out here, away from the light pollution of the city, moon and stars are more than bright enough to see to unlock the door.</p>
<p>Only—</p>
<p>It's open?</p>
<p>Alarm should thread through him, but it doesn't. Xander hears only a peculiar scraping sound from inside, and all he can muster up is curiosity. He nudges the door open the rest of the way, reaches for the light switch. </p>
<p>The wolf digging at his bedroom door looks up at him. There's something distinctly guilty about his expression, even though he's another species entirely. </p>
<p>This is impossible. Xander notes the dark markings around his face, clearer in the inside lights than the dim of the woods. What are the odds? And what was that terrible, terrible name?</p>
<p>"...<em>Happy</em>?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the next chapter is. Long. but 100% more cheerful!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. the wolf on your bed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma knows it is a bad idea; and yet, again and again, he thinks of returning to the ranch.</p>
<p>Just to see. Xander doesn't know it's him, after all. And Ryoma doesn't even know if he lives at the ranch or just visits it. So it would be only for brief reconnaissance. Not for petting.</p>
<p>Probably.</p>
<p>All told, this resolve of Ryoma's really doesn’t last very long. He tries, he really does. There's a hesitant, polite exchange of emails on the topic of what wildlife wolves eat most often – Ryoma provides deer and rabbits based on his own personal experience, but allows that it varies based on season and area.</p>
<p>Ryoma doesn't feel he's learned anything more about the man from this. Even with the note that many gardeners find deer to be significant pests. He appreciates that Xander acknowledges this without prompting, and yet-- it isn't much.</p>
<p>As a wolf, perhaps he can at least figure out whether or not Xander lives at the ranch. He naps during the day, wanders west at moonrise.</p>
<p>The woods are lovely as ever. Ryoma stops to catch a rabbit for fortification – manages to keep himself from rolling in anything – keeps on going. When he finds the furthest-out trail, it's another quiet fight with his current ruling instincts to pace along it. The further he goes, the stronger the horse smell, and it's a scent that, as far as this form is concerned, has never brought anything good.</p>
<p>But it is not full moon, and Ryoma does not have to give these instincts <em>full</em> sway over him. So: he walks alongside the trail, ears pricked up for voices or hoofbeats, and thusly he makes his way closer to the ranch.</p>
<p>By the time he sees buildings and fences, the sun has well set. The largest of the buildings, which look to be barns, are still lit; something smaller, further off at the top of a gentle hill, is mostly dark.</p>
<p>Ryoma meanders, sticking to shadows and fencelines. Where he must, he gathers himself for great leaps over fences, and clears them handily, but for the most part he sticks low to the ground, wiggles undignified under what barriers there may be.</p>
<p>He can't quite scent Xander specifically, but as he heads toward the darker building, the scent of horse becomes much less overwhelming. That's definitely for the best.</p>
<p>Firmly, Ryoma tells himself that if there's some barrier he can't navigate with teeth and paws alone, that's it. He's not shifting human here, especially when he's not carrying any emergency clothes.</p>
<p>The long dark building smells of people. Whoever built it was kind enough to use handles instead of knobs. Ryoma circles once, shoving his nose into bushes and up against window-seams. Here and there, he does catch a trace of the warmed-earth scent that means Xander, and his tail wags despite himself. Again he circles the building, assessing, and finally decides that the door with the worse-kept path is probably the back door. Gingerly Ryoma stretches up, pushes on the handle, and shoves.</p>
<p>Nothing. He's going to hope this is a pull door. Pull doors are harder, but better than locked.</p>
<p>He takes a deep, resigned breath, and hauls himself up to balance on his hind legs. It takes some doing, and more jabbing of himself in the roof of the mouth with the door handle than he would really like, but eventually it comes open far enough that Ryoma can drop down and nose it the rest of the way open.</p>
<p>Inside, Ryoma paces down the central hall, conscious of the sound of his own footfalls. Xander's scent is here, too, overlaid by cleaning agents and a little faded but definitively here. Ryoma shoves his nose into doors where he can, seeing what gives, what's locked, where Xander's scent lingers most strongly. One room has a desk and a computer and paperwork, as well as a plate of cookies.</p>
<p>The cookies are just at nose level. Casually Ryoma crunches one up and keeps browsing. The doors that open at a nudge lead to one bathroom and otherwise bare, ascetic bedrooms – the kind like dorms, without much human scent in them. The locked ones smell more of people.</p>
<p>Upon completing his assessment, Ryoma concludes that the room closest to the back door has to be Xander's. Ryoma hunkers down to press his nose to the crack under the door, inhales deeply. Yes – the traces of warm earth and cedar are strongest here.</p>
<p>His. Yes. Ryoma stretches up to work on the door handle. It turns, but the door doesn't give way, not even when he tries to pull instead of push. Thus thwarted, Ryoma scrapes at the door, clawing first at the handle, then at the bottom of the door. </p>
<p>The door does not give way even for this encouragement. Ryoma whines aloud, runs his shoulder into it with force. The door and frame shudder, but don't budge even so. Disappointed, Ryoma slides down the door to flop heavily against it.</p>
<p>Well. That got him nowhere. He's not even sure what he would have done if he could get in – some vague notion of curling up in Xander's bed surfaces in his head, but he doesn't even really know if this is his bedroom or just an oft-used office. </p>
<p>Ryoma sighs heavily. In a few minutes he gets up again, well aware he should go. He lingers anyway – turns around on the spot a few times, pauses to scrape at the bottom of the door again, just in case. </p>
<p>Somewhere off to his left, the back door creaks as it swings. "Why is this open...?"</p>
<p>He knows that voice. Ryoma looks up and over, stopped mid-scrape, and sees Xander. Oh.</p>
<p>...This was not what Ryoma had planned. And he definitely can't get past Xander gracefully now. Oh no. </p>
<p>"Happy?" Xander says, dazedly.</p>
<p>Ryoma sits down before it can occur to him to wonder if he, as a wolfdog who is only a little acclimated to humans, should respond so readily to the human name.</p>
<p>"Ah," Xander says. "...Hello again."</p>
<p>Ryoma's tail flips gently. He can't really control that.</p>
<p>Xander pats himself down, chest to hip, finally comes up with his phone. Ryoma focuses, head tilted, listens to the little taps of navigation and the low ringing that ensues. </p>
<p>Dimly, distantly, he hears his own voicemail message. "Please call me as soon as you get this," Xander says, sounding faintly strained. "It's about Happy."</p>
<p>The next number he tries is, Ryoma can tell from the voicemail recording, the rehab center. Hinoka's too-perky voice advises that if callers have a life-threatening emergency with an animal, to try an emergency animal hospital. She does not make any recommendation of animal control.</p>
<p>Xander continues staring. "I suppose I could call 911," he muses, "but you don't look like you want to hurt me. What did Ryoma say... as long as I don't feed you?"</p>
<p>Thinking vaguely of the cookies, Ryoma swipes his tongue around his mouth again. It'd be nice if Xander did feed him, but there are good reasons why not. He stretches out, stands up again. Looks thoughtfully at the door.</p>
<p>"...Can I get into that room, please?"</p>
<p>Of course. The obvious solution. Ryoma moves enough sideways that Xander should be able to touch the door, then takes another step for good measure. He doesn't know how threatening he looks, despite his efforts. And despite his efforts, it still feels like forever before Xander is stepping up and unlocking the door. Ryoma watches all this very closely.</p>
<p>When Xander pushes the door open, he's slow, oddly hesitant about it. "If I try to shut you out, are you going to keep digging at the door?"</p>
<p>Probably. Ryoma shifts from foot to foot. </p>
<p>"I must be mad," Xander murmurs, and leaves the door open behind him as he goes in.</p>
<p>It's a bedroom, spare but true, and enough of the things in it are colors other than white that Ryoma could believe this is actually Xander's room, not just a convenient open bed to sleep in now and again. Drawers, a low table and a desk, a bed. Shelves on the wall, some kind of plant in the high windowsill.</p>
<p>Only a cursory look around. Ryoma can investigate more later. Quickly, before the offer can be rescinded, Ryoma bounds into the room proper and vaults onto the bed.</p>
<p>"Wait—!" Xander tries, not nearly fast enough. Ryoma paws at the bed. It's made tidily, sheets and blankets flat and even, which makes it absolutely terrible for snuggling down in. He can get the blankets free if he tries hard enough. The word <em>wait</em>, belated as it is, does give him temporary pause. </p>
<p>Very temporary, as Ryoma recalls that he is a wolf and therefore totally does not understand English. He continues to unmake the bed. </p>
<p>Xander groans quietly. "Your wonder is rapidly evaporating, sir wolf," he says. "I had hoped to sleep."</p>
<p>Hm. It isn't the largest bed Ryoma's ever seen, but neither is it the smallest. There's room to cuddle up, even if it'll be a bit snug. He looks at Xander, then at the bed, wondering what the problem is.</p>
<p>—Oh. Right. Ryoma – Happy – is a mostly wild wolf-dog, by Xander's perception. That would be why Xander is standing by the door and mostly only staring. How does Ryoma even begin to convince him that sharing a bed will be fine, while still appearing to be wolfish? </p>
<p>That's a knotty problem. Ryoma flops down on the bed, shoves his nose under the pillow, and whines.</p>
<p>"I don't know what you want," Xander says, somewhere between wary and plaintive. "Sir wolf— Happy—"</p>
<p>Words seem to fail him. Again Xander tries a phone call; again Ryoma cannot pick up his phone by virtue of being right here instead. Ryoma keeps his ears tilted toward Xander and tries to look further unthreatening.</p>
<p>Xander edges around the room, leaving a clear path between Ryoma and the door. Ryoma sees this and ignores it, pondering how else to get his point across. Finally he scoots around on the bed until he can roll over, belly up and paws in the air. It's a terribly vulnerable position – but, after all, this is his Xander. What is there truly to fear?</p>
<p>Encouragingly, Ryoma wags his tail.</p>
<p>"You're... acting more like a dog than a wolf." A pause. "I think. Ryoma did say you're part dog, and not aggressive..."</p>
<p>Yes. Ryoma did say that.</p>
<p>"Surely you can't have come all this way, gone to all this trouble, just to steal my bed." Xander is a little closer now, drifting towards him slowly. "Or just for— affection?"</p>
<p>Really he came for a half-assed sort of espionage which he kind of feels bad about now. Affection would be nice. What does he have to do for some? Can he look any more pathetic than he already does?</p>
<p>He's certainly going to try.</p>
<p>Closer still, he hears Xander sigh heavily. "It certainly looks like you're asking for a belly rub. I suppose you won't bite my hand off if I try?"</p>
<p>Ryoma didn't bite him last time, either. Though he can forgive the concern; he was, after all, a little bit aggressive toward the horse earlier. </p>
<p>A thought spins up now which didn't earlier, when he was consumed by instincts. Xander cares for this place. Therefore, he probably cares for the horses, too. Ryoma hopes – for Xander's sake – that the horse he spooked was recovered safely.</p>
<p>Xander steps close. Shortly after there's a weight on the bed beside him. Ryoma wiggles vaguely, hopeful. Eventually, one tentative hand sinks into the fur of his belly. Ryoma immediately sighs a deep, content sigh.</p>
<p>"This is impossible," Xander murmurs. Gently he strokes up Ryoma's chest and down. "You don't look very much dog at all."</p>
<p>True. Inconvenient as an observation, though. Ryoma folds his paws around Xander's arm, effectively trapping him in the belly rub, and he is blissfully, blindingly content.</p>
<p>"Hey," Xander says, but doesn't sound very serious about it. He does keep petting. Ryoma transcends bliss and starts to drift somewhere a little more earthy.</p>
<p>"This is a conundrum," Xander says after another few moments. "I should hardly like to move you from my bed by brute strength – you have too many teeth for that, sir wolf, and it seems rude in any case. But you are also preventing my own rest— and it has been a very long day."</p>
<p>Ryoma almost feels the weariness sympathetically, rich as it is in Xander's voice, and he finds himself apologetic. Xander's hand is still moving slowly, though, which makes it hard to want to get up. Or think about things like pretending he doesn't have the relative intelligence of a human.</p>
<p>A weight comes to rest gently against his side. Xander, leaning. "Please," he says quietly.</p>
<p>Ryoma doesn't think he's capable of refusing such an earnest request. Slowly and regretfully, he wiggles himself vertical. He does pause briefly to shove his nose into Xander's hair and huff. Then, with great care, Ryoma gets off the bed. </p>
<p>He doesn't make any move to leave entire.</p>
<p>Xander stands again, and this time Ryoma sees it, the weight of exhaustion that drags his shoulders down and somehow makes him seem smaller than he is. Ryoma notes it – Xander is near to falling over and he goes out of his way to a ranch? Can this possibly be his primary home? – and then he promptly puts the idea away as Xander reaches for his belt.</p>
<p>Ryoma experiences a brief and terrible crisis, which is: Xander seems too tired to care and wolves, in theory, do not make any meaningful distinction between clothed and unclothed humans except for how well scent lingers. Looking away is respectful and human. Not is rude and wolf, but rather a violation of privacy.</p>
<p>But Xander only takes off his belt and then kicks off his shoes, oblivious to his companion's miniature moral crisis. He lingers over the rest of his clothes – shakes his head – and then flops, face-first and headlong, into bed.</p>
<p>He doesn't even bother to pull a blanket over himself. He'll get cold like that.</p>
<p>Ryoma sits where he is for – how long? – several minutes, counting heartbeats. Sixty; one hundred; two hundred; four hundred. It has the benefit of clearing his head a little as well as letting him make sure Xander is actually asleep.</p>
<p>The smart thing to do would be to leave. Ryoma gets up, paces toward the door. It's still ajar – it'll let a draft in like that, he can at least close it on his way out. And before that he should get the light...</p>
<p>He stretches up, paws at the switch until the light goes dark, then drops to the floor again. There. Better.</p>
<p>The mistake is looking back over his shoulder at Xander, relaxed in sleep and alone – uncovered – </p>
<p>Ryoma gets another good lungful of a warm scent like the woods of home in early autumn sunlight, and his will caves in on itself. If this is all he can have, he wants something. </p>
<p>And Xander looks cold.</p>
<p>Ryoma nudges the door softly till it clicks shut, then makes his way back over to the bed, gauging thoughtfully. If he's careful... yes. He doesn't leap up, rather steps up gently one leg at a time, and settles down to lean against Xander. One leg dangles over the edge, as does his tail. It is not the most comfortable of positions: but he is content, and he is with the one who smells of a future home.</p>
<p>Xander stirs, but does not wake, only settles against him.</p>
<p>Ryoma exhales a long pleased sigh, tucks his head neatly over one foreleg, and lets his eyes drift shut.</p>
<p>He doesn't dream— or he doesn't think he does, at least. There's a sense of safety and contentment pervading, which means there's no reason to get up any time soon. This is where he's supposed to be, and anyway who ever <em>wants</em> to get up from naps in the sun? So Ryoma sleeps, and sleeps on.</p>
<p>What wakes him finally is the shifting of his bedmate. Ryoma cracks an eye open lazily, thinks about getting up, and very nearly tries to go back to sleep anyway. </p>
<p>Then he recognizes the other person in bed. Then he remembers: he is not at home, not happily settled with mate and pack, but in a small bedroom on a ranch far from his own proper woods.</p>
<p>Then he realizes it is definitely day by now, and at least one sibling will have noticed, and that won't be a fun explanation to make.</p>
<p>Before Ryoma can do much more than pick his head up, Xander is rousing further. He tries to roll over, makes a confused, bleary sort of sound when he runs into Ryoma, and turns the other way to sit up.</p>
<p>This time he succeeds. Xander yawns. Rubs his eyes. And stops, mid-motion, to stare at Ryoma. "I didn't dream you," he says, wondering. "You're— here." For once unreserved in his confusion, Xander leans forward, reaches out to sink one hand into Ryoma's fur and stroke, slow, along his back.</p>
<p>Ryoma sighs a content sigh to properly demonstrate his appreciation.</p>
<p>"Why are you here?" Xander wonders aloud. As he hasn't stopped petting, Ryoma doesn't especially feel like he needs to care about this question. "Why are you in my <em>bed</em>?"</p>
<p>Because he felt like it, obviously. And because Xander was cold.</p>
<p>Ryoma had meant to get up and go home, probably, but being pet so nicely rather removes any urge he has to get up. So eventually it's Xander that stops, and Ryoma whines vaguely, aimlessly for the loss.</p>
<p>"You whine a lot, for a wolf," says Xander. He sounds perhaps amused, perhaps affectionate. Ryoma does it a little more, anyway, in case some extra pitiability will help his case for the resuming of the pets.</p>
<p>It does not. Xander scoots to the end of the bed to get around Ryoma and out of bed. Mournfully Ryoma turns his head to watch Xander go.</p>
<p>He's moving stiffly. Carefully. Ryoma hadn't thought the bed was that bad. Was it? Tentatively Ryoma himself gets down, stretches front and back. No, he's fine. He's also a wolf, which may affect stiffness or lack thereof. Still, Ryoma doesn't think it was quite that bad.</p>
<p>Xander brushes against him as he moves past, and Ryoma promptly forgets almost everything he was just thinking in favor of wagging instead. Yes. This nearness is good.</p>
<p>"Will you go home now?" Xander asks quietly, opening the door a space. Ryoma eyes it, sniffs at the air with the draft of new information from the hall outside, and ultimately goes nowhere.</p>
<p>Xander's shoulders slump. "I do wish I understood what you want," he says, going to the plain desk in the corner. His phone is there; he checks it, frowns. "I suppose I can't expect an instant response, but I did say it was urgent."</p>
<p>Ryoma is well aware. Later, he'll apologize for not being able to get to his phone.</p>
<p>"It's not that your company isn't nice, sir— Happy," Xander goes on politely. "But I'm sure being so much among humans can't be that good for you in the long term, and you'll get hungry eventually."</p>
<p>Ryoma ate before he came. He sits down, sweeps his tail across the floor. He's going to need a slightly more compelling reason than his health.</p>
<p>Once more, Xander tries to call Ryoma. There is nothing but a voicemail box. Xander looks dubiously at Ryoma; Ryoma lets his jaws part slightly in a cheerful grin.</p>
<p>"Perhaps someone will be at the rehab center now," Xander muses.</p>
<p>It's possible, and this line of thought reminds Ryoma that he had not, entirely, meant to stay this long.</p>
<p>Even if Hinoka isn't at the center, there's a good chance news or messages will get back to her. Ryoma stands up, sulky about it, and— hesitates anyway. He doesn't <em>want</em> to leave. Xander smells perfect and he pets so very nicely, and Ryoma just wants him – at all times – in all ways –</p>
<p>Xander dials the rehab center. Ryoma hears the answering machine, huffs, and noses his way out of the room.</p>
<p>Why can't Ryoma just have him? Stupid human reasons.</p>
<p>But they live in a human world.</p>
<p>Still sulky, Ryoma paws at the back door. He doesn't know if Xander locked it, and there's only so invested he can bring himself to be in leaving. </p>
<p>In a minute or two, Xander comes up behind, leans around to push the back door open for Ryoma. "Go on, sir wolf," he says quietly. "Travel safe."</p>
<p>It's unexpectedly sweet. Ryoma shoves at the door with his shoulder till he can fit through it, then takes off running. He goes straight for the trees, ignoring his earlier attempts at subtlety, and only startles one horse.</p>
<p>On the way home he stops, once or twice, and catches another rabbit for the road, discovering that he was hungry after all. One stolen cookie did not, on the whole, do much for hunger. As a result, however, he gets home even later than a speedy and direct trip would have taken.</p>
<p>Ryoma almost thinks he’s gotten away unnoticed, but as soon as he’s near his room he can tell Hinoka’s already there waiting for him. Of course she is. She lifts up his phone by way of explanation when she sees him. "It kept ringing, so I silenced it," she explains. "Seems like Xander <em>really wants</em> to talk to you." </p>
<p>She eyes Ryoma. Ryoma tries not to look guilty.</p>
<p>"You're lucky I didn't answer it," Hinoka says finally, with something like a smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth. "So. How stupid are you being?"</p>
<p>Very. Ryoma yawns pointedly, stretches out, and hops up on his bed. He doesn't have to be in a hurry to be human again.</p>
<p>Besides. Xander touched his fur.</p>
<p>"Right," Hinoka says. "Okay. Please be careful. With whatever stupid you definitely aren't doing, and I therefore don't have to tell Mom about. Yet."</p>
<p>Ryoma appreciates that, and flips his tail a few times accordingly.</p>
<p>"Uh-huh," Hinoka says, and sets his phone down next to him. "If he calls again, actually answer him. With thumbs."</p>
<p>Ryoma can probably manage that.</p>
<p>Hinoka buries her face in his shoulder for a few moments, breathing deep, before she straightens up and goes.</p>
<p>Thus alone, Ryoma dozes a little, in and out of consciousness with an ear pointed lazily at his phone, just in case. He's not genuinely all that tired; he just doesn't really feel the desire to get up and do human things like brush his teeth or check his emails and voicemails. He thinks of Xander instead, wonders about that lingering stiffness, basks in the memory of his scent.</p>
<p>Eventually the phone rings. Ryoma eyeballs it, spots who it's from, and knows he's going to have to answer. </p>
<p>So he stretches out, flexes his paws, and draws his human form forward. In a few seconds he's changed, finds himself stretched out on his stomach amid the disarray of his sheets, hair in his face.</p>
<p>That wants for brushing. Ryoma shoves it back and reaches for the still-ringing phone. "Hello?" His voice rasps over it. Ryoma winces, clears his throat till it feels like it'll work, and tries again. "Sorry— Xander. Hi."</p>
<p>He feels ridiculous.</p>
<p>He's also remembering he doesn't have any clothes on. This is a poor time to be recalling that with any force.</p>
<p>"There you are." Even through the phone, Xander sounds relieved. Then he pauses. "—Is everything all right...? You sounded..." He stops himself there, as though trying to be polite. "My apologies. It's not my business."</p>
<p>"It's fine," Ryoma says, fighting through a yawn. He lights on an excuse a moment later. "I've been sick, that's all. What can I help you with?"</p>
<p>Apart from everything.</p>
<p>"I hope you're feeling better," Xander murmurs. "Ah— it's about. Happy."</p>
<p>Happy really was almost the worst thing Ryoma could have spit out for a name. He prefers, if he has to separate himself from himself, the low polite rumble of "Sir wolf." </p>
<p>His own name would be better still. </p>
<p>"What about him?" Ryoma prompts, when another pause implies Xander needs it. "Have you seen him again?"</p>
<p>"Ah," Xander says, startled into motion. "Yes. You could say that."</p>
<p>Ryoma could indeed say that. Why is Xander hesitating? "I'm not going to be angry, whatever it is," Ryoma tries. With how Xander has spoken about being good or not good for the wolf, perhaps he's concerned the expert will judge him? "Wolves have their own ideas about what they want to do, and it would be unusual for a human to talk them out of it. Unless— he hasn't started acting out, has he?"</p>
<p>He winces as he says it. It's gentle phrasing, for possible aggression in a canine. But: this is him, after all. He knows he hasn't been aggressive.</p>
<p>There's a soft bark of a laugh on the other end of the line. "That depends on how you define acting out," Xander says, sounding amused now rather than hesitant. It's a better sound for him. "He was here, at the ranch, and— quite insistent. Politely, I suppose. He wasn't aggressive or damaging, but he somehow got. Inside."</p>
<p>"...Hm," Ryoma says, with enough of a pause to be appropriately thoughtful. "There wasn't any food out?" One cookie had barely been enough to taste.</p>
<p>"No." A pause. "Well— a tray of cookies from my sister, but they were still there. If he did get into them, it was only one or two. I wouldn't expect a wolf to show restraint regarding food...?"</p>
<p>Ryoma may feel faintly guilty now. "Unless they were bacon cookies, I think we can rule that out," he says dryly, and pushes himself up to sit, absently drawing a sheet over his lap. Somehow, Xander on the phone inspires modesty. "Inside where you were, or after the horses?"</p>
<p>"Not the barns," Xander clarifies. "I— he was trying to get into my bedroom here. Pawing at the door, and so on."</p>
<p>Ryoma didn't only try, he succeeded; but the fact Xander had to help removes any smugness Ryoma might otherwise have had. "Huh," he says, drawing the syllable out to further feign confusion. "Well... ah. He didn't seem injured or otherwise distressed?"</p>
<p>There's another thinking pause on the other end. Ryoma takes the moment to shove some of his hair back, twisted around itself to keep it from his face. "I don't think so," Xander says finally. There's a rustle from the phone. "He didn't act like he was favoring anything, and he seemed agile enough."</p>
<p>"Hm," Ryoma says once more. "Well, it's not uncommon for animals to return to people they trust if they're hurt, but if you say he seemed fine, the only remaining option I can think is that he likes you." This is the absolute truth.</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>"Sorry," Xander says, "I don't think I heard you entirely."</p>
<p>Ryoma tries not to laugh and mostly succeeds. "All I can think at this point is that he likes you," he repeats.</p>
<p>Xander blows a breath out, long and slow. "I don't understand," he says, and stops. "That is— I understand the concept of liking things and people, of course, but it – he – Happy is a wolf, or mostly one."</p>
<p>"Mmhm." Ryoma makes a noncommittal sound, mostly to fill space. "Have you ever had a dog?"</p>
<p>"I— no. Why?"</p>
<p>Ah, well; he can do without the reference. "Dogs and wolves are, quite technically, the same species," Ryoma explains. "What we call a 'dog' is still technically <em>canis lupus</em>, or <em>canis lupus familiaris</em> in full. While I don't mean to imply that wolves <em>are</em> dogs, since breeding and socialization have a significant impact, they do share some not insignificant traits. Most pet owners can tell you it’s easy to see dogs develop their own likes and dislikes, and it’s much the same with wolves. They’re wild, yes, but they are still the same species that has worked in concert with humans for hundreds of years. Friendships, with their own or other species, do happen. Humans have recorded wolf friendships with dogs, ravens, sometimes even animals like deer that would otherwise be prey. And that's only what humans have witnessed, recorded, and publicized. I am inclined to think each wolf has their own rich inner life and web of relationships; and taking that into account, is it so strange that one should decide to like you?"</p>
<p>Again there is some quiet, broken mostly by the sound of Xander's breath. If Ryoma closes his eyes, holds the phone a little away from his ear, he can almost pretend Xander is there with him, that this is some lazy discussion resting twined in the same sheets, uncaring of anything in the outside world—</p>
<p>Ryoma stops doing that, actually. He waits, alert, eyes open, seeing the fact that he is alone in this room.</p>
<p>"I... suppose," Xander says finally, still all slow and confused. "I'm still not sure I understand why he might— take a liking to me— but when you put it that way, it does not seem so strange, broadly speaking."</p>
<p>Ryoma wonders idly about going back. Surely if he does, Xander won't be so tired or so startled?</p>
<p>"Are you sure it's safe?" Xander goes on. "He's certainly not aggressive towards me; but there are others who work on the ranch, and even without feeding him, I worry for becoming an unnecessary disruption to his natural life."</p>
<p>Concern for horses and others would certainly be valid, if Ryoma did not know precisely, at any given moment, what is going on in Happy's mind. "Well," he says. "He's never going to live a life without humans. That is a truth. As much as we try to stay remote: humans shape the cities and the land, even those they choose to leave untouched, and he exists at all because humans were here. Non-intervention is a myth, at this point."</p>
<p>It doesn't address the other issue. Ryoma drums his fingers against the phone, sighs mightily. "As for your concerns about the others— I doubt it will be a problem, especially if <em>you</em> have no quibble with the others. Wolves aren't naturally people-eaters, remember, and a fight is an expensive and risky expenditure of energy. Unless he's defending something or is otherwise cornered, he's more likely to simply bolt than attack."</p>
<p>"I... see." Ryoma can practically see Xander's knit brow in front of him, such is the tone of his voice. </p>
<p>"If you're still reasonably concerned," Ryoma begins, "I can offer some recommendations on scaring him off?" He hates to even make the offer; but, all things considered, it will be too strange if he does not. "I truly don't think it's necessary, but you are the one who has seen him."</p>
<p>He doesn't know exactly what he's going to do if Xander says he does want to scare Happy off. Get cleverer, perhaps. At no point does he consider that he might just not go back to the ranch at all, and thereby solve the problem differently.</p>
<p>Xander is quiet, again, for a long time. Ryoma should probably prompt him. And not close his eyes. "Is everything all right?"</p>
<p>"Hm? —Yes, my apologies." Another rustle. "To answer your question— no, I don't think it's necessary right now. I don't think I've quite heard an opinion on intervention like yours before."</p>
<p>"I'm happy to talk about it more later, if you like," Ryoma offers before he can think better of it. "I'll warn you, I have a great number of opinions."</p>
<p>This nets him a startled laugh. It seems to reach right down inside and warm his heart. "I may take you up on that," Xander says. "For now— you've answered my question, and you said you were sick. I ought to let you go."</p>
<p>Never let him go. "I suppose," Ryoma allows. His mouth is dry. Perhaps for Xander, perhaps for how much he's been talking. "Still, please don't hesitate to call if something else happens."</p>
<p>"All right," Xander says, and, "Thank you."</p>
<p>Ryoma wants to be there.</p>
<p>He ends the call and goes to take the longest, most luxurious shower he can get away with. Their water heater is very good, and he is decently sure there's debris in his hair he hasn't reached yet, so long is the order of the day. It should do to clear his nose and his head, as well as fix the issue of his hair.</p>
<p>And that one always does take a while.</p>
<p>When he steps out of the shower it's as a wolf, damp fur spiking across his shoulders. Either way he'll be forever about drying off, and at least this way he can shake. The broad arc of water droplets scattering in every direction is more satisfying than a ponytail plastered to his neck.</p>
<p>He still wants Xander. Ryoma acknowledges, at least to himself, that if he's not careful, he's going to have something more sincere than a crush. He's seen enough of Xander to know he wants to know more. He knows already this is someone he can respect and admire, someone open to learning and full of a patient kindness more easily seen by animals.</p>
<p>He thinks Ryoma's majestic.</p>
<p>When they're in person next, maybe, Ryoma can at least make sure Xander knows he's interested, if the long-term desire ever changes. Xander <em>did</em> imply he'd like to talk more, after all, not only when there are wolf-related emergencies. Ryoma is trying not to read too much into that even though he really does want to.</p>
<p>...He's still going to visit the ranch as a wolf, though.</p>
<p>Politely.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. butterflies and beignets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elise's boarding school is the closest to home. It's a few hours' drive -- not really a good trip to do frequently, but one that can happen more often than Leo's or Corrin's.</p><p>Father knows Xander knows where it is. That Xander visits, however, is a secret; and Elise has some freedom to go into town on weekends, granted for academic accomplishments. She saves her time wisely, and sometimes bribes people with cookies if she really needs to, and she and Xander call back and forth. With Father out of town especially, Xander's taking advantage of the relative nearness to go and see his sister. </p><p>Elise is good at chasing loneliness away. </p><p>He goes the Sunday – the day after he wakes with a wolf in his bed, if his memories are to be trusted with that much. It's ridiculous, and it's foolish, but Xander can't otherwise explain away the scratches in the paint, nor the dark shed fur that lingers on his pillow. There was a wolf, and Father is out of town, and Elise is sun-gold and lavender, all cheerful smiles as she moves between plants. This was her choice for today's excursus: the Coastal Science Center, which brims with exhibits from physics to astronomy to architecture. This corner of it is set aside for tropical plants and butterflies, and it couldn't feel further from home.</p><p>Elise turns back to Xander giggling, face tilted up. One of the larger butterflies has landed on her cheek, waving its wings very slowly in a shifting display of color and shape. "It <em>tickles</em>," she says, too delighted to really complain.</p><p>Xander manages to snap a quick picture – he'll see to a cloud save and deleting it from his phone later – and after that settles in to simply being with her. "It suits you," he says solemnly. </p><p>"Aw," she says, trying not to move her mouth too much lest she disturb the butterfly. "I can't <em>wear</em> butterflies." </p><p>"I'm sure there are similar jewelries," Xander offers. "A hairclip?"</p><p>"It's not the same," Elise says, nose wrinkled up. The butterfly scoots an inch up her cheek, as if contemplating its situation, and finally departs in a burst of color. Elise heaves a disappointed sigh. "Aw, come back." </p><p>It's only brief clouds passing in front of the sun. Two more butterflies hitch rides on her as they meander through vibrant plants and humid air, and each one she coos over, earnestly delighted and surprised with each new rider. To Xander's eyes they look much like each other. </p><p>Still. The point is that Elise is enjoying herself. Xander spares time to wonder briefly if it's selfish, to visit at least in part to chase cobwebs and shadows from his own mind— but the way Elise keeps checking back toward him, wanting to show him this flower or that cocoon, tells Xander that in truth she would not be so pleased without his presence, either. This fact he holds close to himself, folding it into his truth in the hopes that he will remember again and again, in the future. </p><p>The rest of the science center follows much the same pattern, with Xander trailing Elise and partaking in the joy she generously offers him. When they sit down at the adjoining café, Elise pushes Xander ceremoniously into a corner and declares that she will handle this, bouncing off to get them drinks and pastries named after physics and space phenomenon. Xander allows it, but keeps a watchful eye on her movement across the café anyway. </p><p>"Hey, Xander?" Elise says, some little time later. She has her hands threaded around a giant mug of hot chocolate, and of her croissant nothing remains but crumbs. "...is everything okay at home?" </p><p>Whatever question he was expecting, it wasn't that. Xander curtails any visible physical response on his part. "As well as usual," he says slowly, which is the best answer he knows how to offer. "Why do you ask?" </p><p>"Mmmm." Elise draws the note out like she's thinking, tilting her head back to stare at something on the ceiling as she does. In a moment or two she focuses on Xander again. "Well, I guess it's nothing. It's just that this was pretty short notice, and we usually plan better than this, you know? So I was wondering if something had happened." </p><p>She is sharp, his youngest sister. Xander wonders for a fleeting few seconds how long he can truly hope to shelter her.</p><p>"It's all right, Elise," he tells her, himself making the effort to believe this as well. "Everyone is fine. I would let you know if something big had happened." In his head he justifies to himself: a wolf is only a wolf, Father's absence is one like any other, nothing has changed, everything truly is fine, all within an acceptable standard deviation from the norm.</p><p>"Okay," Elise says simply, and just like that she lets it go – or at least appears to. Xander suspects she has learned something from Leo of stubbornness. "As long as you promise, okay? I'm not a little kid any more. You have to tell me if something happens that upsets you. Even if you don't think I can help." As a finishing blow she pouts at him. </p><p>Xander sighs very, very quietly. "I will tell you if something unusual happens, bad or good," he says, without actually using the word promise. Before Elise can fix on this and demand a promise he may have to break later, Xander hastens on. "Elise. Have you learned anything of horseback riding, at school?" </p><p>"Huh?" She's more confused than objecting to the change of topic. "Well, a little. You don't get to really take a lot of lessons until you're a higher year, or if you already know you want equestrian studies in college. I'd like to learn, but I don't think I want to <em>study</em> it, you know?" </p><p>Xander knows. "I may know of a place you can learn," he says, somewhere paradoxically between cautious and impulsive. He's turned over the idea of showing <em>someone</em> before, and of course there are the students and those who board their horses at the ranch, but – it's different, someone in his own family. Someone this close. Even if Leo and Camilla are aware, vaguely, that Xander goes somewhere, that there is somewhere <em>to</em> go – it isn’t this, a willing confession.</p><p>Elise's eyes are bright, sharp. "Well?" she prompts when he hesitates. "What do you mean, you <em>may</em> know? That's awfully indefinite."</p><p>On the crux of choices, Xander – puts off the decision. "It's something of a secret," he says seriously, knowing this will appeal to her. "No one else can know about it." </p><p>"What, no one else?" Elise pauses for a long draught of her hot chocolate, and eyes Xander with a renewed interest when she puts it down. Delicately she wipes her mouth. "Horses have to be kept somewhere, right? And any place big enough for them needs people to look after it, doesn't it?" </p><p>Xander looks forward to seeing how sharp she is when she's grown, but right now it's terribly inconvenient. "There's staff," he allows. "All of them are independent and have signed non-disclosure agreements. It's a very... exclusive establishment." </p><p>Elise leans forward toward him, eyes wide. "What about Leo and Camilla?" </p><p>He shakes his head. "Neither of them have ever been there." </p><p>"Why not?" Elise wants to know. It's not really accusatory, just... curious. </p><p>The more people who know a secret, the harder it is to keep it, Xander thinks but does not say. The staff at the ranch – none of them have any connection to Father closer than three degrees of separation. It's something he built on his own, up from the base Mother left, and he wants it to stay his, and only his. It's foolishly possessive, perhaps; but also, he knows Father's business practices. There are more <em>profitable</em> ways to use the land. </p><p>Xander likes it just the way it is, the way he's made it. </p><p>"It's very important to me," he says quietly. "I just... couldn't find the right time." </p><p>"Hmmmm," Elise says, drawing it out thoughtful and mock-stern. "Are you gonna tell them about it eventually?" </p><p>"I think so," Xander says. Somehow, in retrospect, now that it is half-spilling out of him, it seems right to show Elise the ranch first. "But you're first." </p><p>She beams at him. He doesn't have to tell her she's special for her to understand it. "So?" she says, still bright. "When do I get to see this mysterious place with horses that might exist?"</p><p>"Over the winter break," Xander promises, before he can reconsider. That gives him time to be cautious about it, time to think through any precautions he might need to take. Time for Elise to forget about it, if she's not serious about her interest; or time for Elise to refine her interest to something more precise and determined, as she has done with the things she truly wants.</p><p>"I'll hold you to that, big brother," she says very solemnly. </p><p>Xander has no doubt she will. </p><p>He spends as much of the rest of the day with her as he can, accounting for their schedules. Elise cannot be out until very late, and Xander has a drive home yet to make, but all the same he stays perhaps a little longer than is truly advisable. All of the joy and warmth bestowed upon him he saves up, tucks away in some internal safe place, to be reviewed at some later point when a drop of sunshine will go a long way. </p><p>Elise hugs him tight around the waist before she has to go, face tilted up. Xander gives in and lifts her off the ground, spinning her on the spot once, twice, before he sets her down again. Impish, pleased, Elise bounces on the spot beaming before she darts off, back onto school grounds. </p><p>Xander lingers longer than he should, but shorter than he'd like, before he heads home.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. then who was phone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days after his indiscretion at the ranch, Ryoma finds himself rolled out of bed at four in the morning. </p>
<p>He's only guessing it's four, based on the way cotton fills his head and it feels like he's only just drifted off to sleep. At least no one's flicked on the light – Ryoma pushes himself off the floor, rubs at his eyes. A quick sniff matches scent to silhouette. "Hinoka?"</p>
<p>"Hey," she says, backing off a bit. "Put some clothes on and come with me, okay?" </p>
<p>She sounds worried, which does a better job of clearing Ryoma's head than anything else would have. "Is anyone hurt?" There's no scent of blood, but that isn't always a guarantee. He gropes around the side of the bed – he usually leaves a robe or pants there, just in case. </p>
<p>"No, it's just— something weird." Hinoka stands up, goes to wait by the door, shifting from foot to foot. </p>
<p>Inside of thirty seconds Ryoma has pants on, and is following her. She leads him out into the lighted hall – Ryoma covers his eyes for a few moments at the brightness, trailing Hinoka by sound alone. "Something weird," he repeats through a yawn.</p>
<p>"If I tell you, it'll bias you," Hinoka says. "Just come on, okay? We're not going <em>that</em> far."</p>
<p>Ryoma decides it's possible he's dreaming. That's fine, as long as Hinoka doesn't turn into a fox or something peculiar. He trails her down the hall, down a flight of stairs, and down another hall that ends in three doors, one to each side. Hinoka parks him in the middle of the intersection and looks expectantly at him.</p>
<p>This does absolutely nothing for him. Ryoma looks from door to door. One is a closet full of board games, which he knows for a fact, even if the faint smell of musty paper hadn't reminded him. To the left is the music room, which has decent soundproofing and a number of instruments stored; to the right is a bathroom. Ryoma can't guess which of them he's supposed to be paying attention to, and Hinoka has her arms folded, shoulders up and chin tucked like she's sulking, which means she's very hard to read any other cues off of.</p>
<p>Hm. </p>
<p>Ryoma turns in a slow circle on the spot, sniffs the air thoughtfully. He can't catalogue anything out of the ordinary immediately, though that might change if he shifts. The wolf part of him certainly has a better nose, as well as better ears. As things are, he can't hear anything strange, either. Water in the pipes is normal, he thinks? And if the soundproofing has failed, he certainly can't hear whoever's inside.</p>
<p>After a few minutes of this he turns around to look at Hinoka again, honestly confused. "Is something wrong with the plumbing?" he tries hopefully.</p>
<p>"You really can't hear <em>anything</em>?" Hinoka demands, unfolding herself just a little. </p>
<p>Ryoma assesses how far these particular pants will stretch, shrugs, and pushes himself into his other form. Colors shift, sounds and scents pop into sharp relief, and he drops to all paws. His tail hurts, which he whines about absentmindedly even as he's lifting his nose to sniff, mouth open slightly.</p>
<p>Nothing. Nothing. Well— almost something, a brief whiff of a thing like the air after rain, like clouds after lightning strikes; but it's gone within a few seconds, as if Ryoma has imagined it for trying so hard to sniff something. Gingerly Ryoma reaches for the human side of him, straightens up and plucks ruefully at the waistband. </p>
<p>"There's nothing," he confirms, rolling his shoulders. "What are you looking for?" </p>
<p>Hinoka makes an impatient noise, yanks open the door to the music room. She twitches as she does it, bats at her ear as if to drive a mosquito away. "Still nothing?"</p>
<p>Ryoma stands in the doorway, flicks the light on and peers around without quite crossing the threshold. There's a drum kit in the corner which doesn't see much use; cases for a violin and a viola leaning against the wall; a music stand and chair in the center of the room; some antique traditional instruments he can't quite find names for in a glass case at the far end of the room. He's decently sure they're family heirlooms, but hasn't ever had much interest in this particular room. </p>
<p>"Nothing," he says again, shaking his head. His pants are trying to fall off his hips now; Ryoma remembers belatedly they have a drawstring, and tugs them up to fix the falling problem. "Hinoka, what's going on?"</p>
<p>Hinoka steps up beside him, gives the room a dirty look, and tugs him back so she can slam the door. "There's something humming," she says, hunching her shoulders up again. "I don't like it." </p>
<p>Ryoma definitely can't hear anything humming. "You're sure it's coming from here?" </p>
<p>"<em>Yes</em> I'm sure, I tracked it halfway across the house," Hinoka snaps. </p>
<p>If it woke her, then it's strong indeed, but Ryoma can't for the life of him start to think what Hinoka might be able to hear that no one else could. He appreciates that she came to him, at least, and has a feeling he'll appreciate this more when it's a decent hour to be waking up at. </p>
<p>Ryoma turns the light off, closes the door, pulling her a step back out of the doorway as he does. "Same intensity?" </p>
<p>Hinoka frowns. Opens the door. Closes it again. Opens it. Closes it. "...Huh," she says. "Yeah. I thought it was weird I could hear it with the soundproofing." </p>
<p>That says something, but Ryoma doesn't know exactly what, beyond the first obvious step. "Then it's probably not a sound," he says.</p>
<p>In the resulting quiet, Hinoka looks at him as though she's expecting something more out of him than that. She turns her hand over, motions like <em>go on</em>. </p>
<p>It's four in the morning, or close enough to it. Ryoma stares blankly back at her. "If it isn't a sound, then it's just something acting like one?" he tries. </p>
<p>Hinoka keeps staring at him. </p>
<p>Ryoma rubs a hand across his eyes. "I think this is something you're going to have to ask Mother about," he says tiredly. "If it doesn't spark, there's not anything I can do with it." The power, the magic that twines wolf and human to make the beings that they are, is a primal thing of earth and sky, stone and storm. Mother – the thing that Mother is that they don't talk about, can't talk about – exists between, in potentials and possibilities, things that aren't solid yet. Fog and twilight and doorways.</p>
<p>He's getting poetic in the worst way at this hour. </p>
<p>"It's still <em>humming</em>," Hinoka says, voice pitching on a whine. </p>
<p>At a loss for anything else to do, Ryoma steps over and covers her ears. Hinoka blinks up at him, eyes flicker-shift-swirling. Ryoma can feel the shape of her jaw shifting under the heels of his palms, her ears angling into fuzzy-tipped points and then receding. "Oh," she says, a little too loud. "All right. What did you do?" </p>
<p>Ryoma couldn't begin to guess. Well— no. He has some theories, but they're half-formed and buried under the deep desire to go back to sleep. The simplest version, then. "Pack magic wins," he says through another yawn, dropping his hands. He waits a moment hovering just to be sure – Hinoka shakes her head experimentally, then nods – Ryoma steps back. </p>
<p>"Thanks," she says, suddenly quiet. She's rarely this quiet. "...I'll talk to Mother in the morning. See if she has any ideas."</p>
<p>"She's the only one I can think of who might know." Ryoma turns to head back to his room, and Hinoka trails him, doing her best to look like she's not actually doing that. "Do you want to sleep in my room, in case it comes back?" </p>
<p>"That wasn't what I was already doing?" </p>
<p>By the time Ryoma actually gets to his room, there's a reddish wolf behind him, wriggling out of her tank top. Ryoma helps her when it gets stuck on her ear, scoots her pajamas into a corner. By the time he's taken care of this, Hinoka has shaken vigorously, fluffing her fur, and is eying Ryoma's bed.</p>
<p>She beats him to it. </p>
<p>In the dark Ryoma sighs heavily, pointedly, not at all regretfully, and downshifts to match her. He kicks free of his pants, flips his tail a few times to make sure all is dislodged, and bounces up on his bed next to Hinoka. She shows him teeth, not entirely seriously; in the face of this Ryoma yawns extravagantly and, vengeful, drops his chin heavily on Hinoka's side. </p>
<p>Hinoka's breath comes out in a low <em>whuff</em>. They tussle vaguely for bedspace, neither of them bothering to get up, and eventually come to a conclusion where each is using the other for a pillow and can feel correspondingly smug about it. Ryoma makes a mental note to figure out whatever this was tomorrow – and then blissfully, fuzzily, drifts right back off to sleep.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nothing more comes of the episode with the humming, though Ryoma does check over the music room a few more times, just to be sure. And he's diligent, in the following days, about family responsibilities and work—the beauty of his primary work being for a charitable foundation is that emails can be sent at all hours. He and Mother spend time over the concept of the stock market, and investments. These particular lessons tend to be less of teaching and more of an experiment in how much Mother's foresight truly informs her acumen, but Ryoma is getting better. The pack's not going to have monetary trouble in the immediate future, anyway, and what they fund can continue.</p>
<p>He can only circle in mundanities so long. After three days of this he blitzes through household responsibilities as fast as he can and then takes off for the ranch at top speed.</p>
<p>Following the same path isn't so very hard. Ryoma has to steer around one horse today, and he gives it a very wide berth indeed on his way up to the building proper.</p>
<p>The back door is locked this time. Ryoma paws at it hopefully for a good minute or two, till he's made such a clawing racket that surely if Xander were here, he would hear. There's no answer.</p>
<p>The paint at the bottom edge of the door is a little scratched up now. Ryoma would apologize if he could justify doing so in human form.</p>
<p>Out of some further hope, Ryoma circles the building, scents air and earth. No recent implication of Xander. Instinct gets the better of him for long enough to make marking corners seem like a good idea— Ryoma stops himself hastily. But he lingers, just in case Xander will show up if given a little more time—</p>
<p>Just a little bit longer—</p>
<p>Eventually he admits defeat. Even so, then, he has learned something: Xander <em>definitely</em> doesn't live here all the time. What caused the other evening, then? Ryoma has to wonder.</p>
<p>Fortunately or unfortunately, the only way Ryoma will be able to work out those specific mysteries is to spend more time around Xander.</p>
<p>He tells himself it would be foolish to go back again and again, day after day. And it would be. Ryoma checks back only every few days instead. He tends to his own duties, to family and household and business, in the interim.</p>
<p>And does a little research. He goes over the agreements with the ranch, the old version and the newer, and finds there is little change between them. They're more promises than contract, too – there's enough legal language Ryoma suspects one could be taken to court with a decent chance of success, in the event of breach of contract, but he knows Mother, and they were written as promises first.</p>
<p>And he knows what the breaking of promises costs, among the lords and ladies.</p>
<p>Promises regarding ecological impact, mindfulness of their place in the world and their disruption of it, safe passage to wildlife as possible. Promises to invite none but the trusted into the land. Each generation's is signed with a bloody thumbprint— Katerina's black, the latter as red as if it were still fresh. Ryoma suspects the blood is Xander's, even if the name may be that of the lawyer who was acting as proxy. The blood tells.</p>
<p>Mother made certain promises in return, too— of protection, of silence and privacy. He won't be able to speak to Mother about the details of this, then, and it explains why her version of explaining was to show him the agreements instead of speaking in detail. Mother's folk twist through incautious wording when they can, but when bound, they are <em>bound</em>.</p>
<p>Ryoma suspects there is as much power in keeping within the strictures of said bindings as there is in the bonds themselves, but he doesn't know. Not for sure. This, too, is one of those things that can only be hinted at.</p>
<p>Father knew who and what Mother was when she came into the pack. So did Mom. It never made a difference to any of them, only that they all learned to speak carefully around certain things. Even now, they trust Mother implicitly, no matter where she came from.</p>
<p>Ryoma wonders only briefly why Katerina would have wanted such protections extended to her, enough to agree to at least genuinely try everything Mikoto asked of her.</p>
<p>Only briefly. She is no longer here, after all; and they know what sort of person Garon is. Could Mother perhaps speak further on Katerina, on promises cut short by death, if Ryoma asked her?</p>
<p>(He tries. All Mother can do is shake her head. She looks tired.)</p>
<p>The next two ranch trips prove fruitless, except to make Hinoka suspicious and also startle some horses. Ryoma really didn't <em>mean</em> to startle them this time.</p>
<p>The next trip after that is closer to the full moon than strictly optimal. Ryoma lives in hope. He also knows that he definitely can't come back until after wolf night, with instincts running closer and closer to the surface like this.</p>
<p>He isn't even sure Xander's there. He scrapes at the back door anyway, as is becoming his wont – the earlier scratch marks have become a rapidly deepening set of gouges in the paint. Maybe Xander hasn't noticed them.</p>
<p>There's no answer, anyway. Ryoma circles, scrapes at the front door a few times out of sheer unbridled optimism. There's not nearly the same mark on this door. He reasons, if he's going to be obnoxious, he can mostly limit it to one door.</p>
<p>No immediate answer here, either, but Ryoma does hear movement. He pricks his ears up hopefully at the footsteps, stands right at the door.</p>
<p>A moment later, Xander opens the door. He looks out first, then down. Ryoma's tail wags automatically, and his jaws part in a bare smile.</p>
<p>Xander stares at him.</p>
<p>With continuing hope, Ryoma shoves his nose into the open space of the door. One of Xander's hands comes down as though to block; Ryoma pushes his nose into this instead, and thereby discovers Xander is wearing gloves again, even though he's been indoors. Leather twines around his usual sun-warmed earth.</p>
<p>Clearly, Ryoma needs to investigate this further. He sniffs all over that hand with short, sharp inhalations, makes out mostly dye and ink and Xander. It's peculiar, but not necessarily bad.</p>
<p>When he's done with that and looks up again, Xander is giving him the faintest of tiny smiles. Ah, the warmth in his eyes. "What do you think you're doing here, sir wolf? Ah— Happy?"</p>
<p>In some vague hope of retraining him from Ryoma’s own mistake, Ryoma flicks interested ears at him only on "sir wolf." Then he lowers his head and attempts to shoulder his way inside.</p>
<p>Xander hip-checks him back. Ryoma grunts in surprise. "You're a wolf," Xander says. He sounds apologetic. "This is for humans. It's better that way."</p>
<p>Consideringly, Ryoma licks his nose, then tries again with slightly more force. Xander attempts to block again, leaning sideways, and Ryoma, though stopped temporarily in his quest, leans heavily on Xander. He'll have to give an inch or two eventually.</p>
<p>"Why are you so determined?" Xander asks, in the resigned tones of a man who doesn't actually expect an answer. "I don't have anything for you. I'm— working the accounts. That's all."</p>
<p>That's fine. Ryoma is used to the quiet company of people going over accounts. He continues to lean.</p>
<p>Xander sets a hand on his shoulder. There is the gentlest of ineffective shoves, which rather feels to Ryoma like it could turn into petting. "You're sure you want to come in?"</p>
<p>He is absolutely sure. Ryoma doesn't have much weight left that he hasn't already leaned on Xander, but he tries a little more with some determination anyway.</p>
<p>Something gives; Xander staggers back. Ryoma slips inside while he has the opening. Some of his fur catches on the door and he doesn't even care. Ryoma prances a few steps in smug delight, tail lifted, and then looks back to see if Xander is following him.</p>
<p>Xander isn't following yet, instead rubbing his hip ruefully. Ryoma comes back to him a little sheepishly, concerned and demonstrating it by shoving his nose at the spot.</p>
<p>For his troubles he gets his face pushed firmly away by a gloved hand. "I'm fine," Xander says. He looks from Ryoma to the open door, sighs again, and finally closes the door. "It's too cold to leave open, and the sun will be setting soon. I assume you'll let me know if you want to leave."</p>
<p>Ryoma wags earnestly. He never wants to leave, naturally. He'll see how the night goes.</p>
<p>They study each other like this a while longer, and finally Xander shoves a hand back through his hair before finally moving carefully past Ryoma. "I'm going back to what I was doing," he says. "It's not going to be very interesting for wolves... and you probably don't understand much of what I'm saying, anyway."</p>
<p>Ryoma's tail hasn't stopped swishing. He follows Xander, stepping high, idly scenting the air. No one else immediately here, only the two of them. Ryoma approves of this.</p>
<p>As it happens, Xander takes him to the room the cookies were in the first time. He has a laptop computer open on the desk, and two notebooks with very precise writing in them. A pen and a pair of glasses sit on top of one of the books; Xander's phone is on the other, holding the page down.</p>
<p>Xander sits down and puts the glasses on— they're gold-rimmed, half-framed glasses, and they perch neatly on the end of his nose.</p>
<p>This is fascinating. Ryoma is fascinated. He's so distracted, in fact, that he barely realizes Xander has picked up his phone.</p>
<p>Until he hears his own voicemail message, of course.</p>
<p>"Hello, Ryoma," Xander says politely to the voicemail box. "Happy's showed up again. Can you please call me back as soon as you get this?"</p>
<p>He hangs up, puts his phone down and regards Ryoma with all his focus again. "I suppose two times is hardly a pattern," Xander muses, "but last time I couldn't get hold of him until you left, either."</p>
<p>If Xander had any concept of magic and non-humans, Ryoma would be more worried. As it is, he just edges up to Xander, putting himself in petting range just in case. "I wonder what he's doing," Xander says, instead of jumping to any conclusions about werewolves, and offers Ryoma his hand.</p>
<p>Both his hands are gloved. Ryoma gives this one, too, an appropriate investigation. Had Xander been wearing gloves last time? Ryoma is pretty sure he would have noticed, but then again most of what Xander had done was stare, argue ineffectively about the bed, and then pass out. The first time he certainly had been, but that was outdoors. Gloves regularly indoors would be something else, but Ryoma doesn't have enough critical thinking for why right now.</p>
<p>He'll keep an eye on it. Or a nose. Or both. For now he rests his chin heavily on Xander's thigh. This could only be better if Ryoma could lay down <em>and</em> do this.</p>
<p>Very gently, Xander rests his gloved hand on the broad curve of Ryoma's head, just between his ears. "You don't make any sense," he says. Gently. Wonderingly. "And you are among the most wondrous things I have ever seen. I suppose I should be more wary, or more careful for your exposure to humans, but... on the whole, I cannot be upset you're here."</p>
<p>Ryoma inscribes great sweeping arcs with his tail in the air behind him. Xander rubs behind one ear – hesitates – finally takes his hand away. Fortunately, it's only so he can take his glove off and then return to what he was doing.</p>
<p>Truly, Ryoma should be paying better attention. He would make a terrible spy. He catches the impression of something dark on Xander's palm, stretching into the web between thumb and forefinger, and then Xander is rubbing behind his ear again.</p>
<p>Bliss. Ryoma's eyes slip closed, and he sits down so he can lean a little better, and he forgets about the mark just as easily as he noticed it.</p>
<p>Time passes. Ryoma genuinely isn't sure how much. The screensaver has gone on, and it's darker outside, when Xander stops. "I need both my hands for a little while," he says regretfully. "I'm happy to continue later."</p>
<p>Living in hope, Ryoma keeps his chin on Xander's thigh even through the tap of keys and the scrape of his pen. Once in a while he whines for good measure, just in case. This usually gets him a stroke or two, but little more.</p>
<p>Eventually Ryoma lifts his head in earnest and gets up, pacing around the room and sticking his nose into anything available. The recycling bin, the dust in the corner – a sneeze – the heater at the baseboard. There are, he is terribly disappointed to note, no cookies.</p>
<p>He probably shouldn't steal any more of Xander's sister's cookies, anyway. But they were, in fairness, very good.</p>
<p>Ryoma paces the room some more, then goes out into the hall to nose up and down that, too. Xander's room is locked. Maybe he can get Xander to change that.</p>
<p>Back in the office, Xander is still busy. Ryoma sighs over this. He re-discovers, at least, that if he comes close enough and whines quietly, it will net him a few more ear rubs. Not as many as he'd like, though.</p>
<p>He walks off again to flop down near the heater and get comfortable. No—too warm. Ryoma heaves himself up again, tries the other corner. No— too inconvenient to ear rubs, and a little drafty.</p>
<p>He doesn't quite want to lay at Xander's feet, but it's beginning to look like a slightly better option than the current alternatives. As a start Ryoma circles the desk instead, lifts his paws to brace on the edge opposite Xander and look over the notebooks.</p>
<p>There's a startled noise. Xander looks at Ryoma with some concern, approaching scandalized. "No paws on the desk," Xander says firmly, and reaches out to poke one of Ryoma's toes with the pen he's holding.</p>
<p>Excuse him. Ryoma moves that paw back and starts sniffing the account books. Ink and paper and sunlight and earth.</p>
<p>"No paws," Xander repeats hopefully, poking at Ryoma's other foot now.</p>
<p>Mildly annoyed, Ryoma lifts that paw, pulls it back, and gives Xander his best reproachful wolf look.</p>
<p>"I'm trying to work," Xander says to him. "Books don't balance themselves, and these especially need all my attention."</p>
<p>Dubious, still braced on only one paw, Ryoma leans over to sniff and then lick the book closest to him. It tastes unremarkable.</p>
<p>Xander squawks and yanks the book away.</p>
<p>Oh, fine. Disappointed, Ryoma drops back to the floor and returns to his pacing.</p>
<p>But why <em>would</em> Xander need to be so careful and diligent about these accounts in particular? Ryoma is missing something, and right now, with the possibility of being pet still very strong, he doesn't care to figure out precisely what.</p>
<p>He'll come back to the thought later. When he's human-shaped again, perhaps.</p>
<p>In the mean time, he still hasn't found a good place to settle down to wait. He circles the room a few more times, sniffing at each possibility in turn. Heater, desk, chin on Xander's leg. Gentle pets.</p>
<p>"If you wanted interesting, you should have stayed outside," Xander murmurs eventually, when a few pets fail to assuage Ryoma, and only result in a heavier head. "I do need to get this done... and I really do need to stop expecting you to understand me." This last is said ruefully.</p>
<p>There's no good answer for it. Ryoma draws back to let Xander work for maybe a minute before rearing up to plant his paws on the desk again, this time beside Xander instead of across from him.</p>
<p>This way, he can see what Xander's working on. Color-coded spreadsheets on the computer, tidy columns and rows of writing in the books. Ryoma can observe all these things, read them well enough if he focuses, but he has trouble finding them important as-is. In truth, they're only really interesting right now because Xander is so interested in them.</p>
<p>"As long as you don't lick them again," Xander says, resigned.</p>
<p>Ryoma does not lick this time. He does, however, sniff everything available, and his nose is appropriately damp. Some few minutes later, Xander fingers a noseprint with wordless judgment.</p>
<p>Ryoma chooses to read appreciation into this gesture, and turns his head so he can lick Xander's face now. Regrettably, he gets only a few licks in before Xander splutters and shoves at him.</p>
<p>Disappointed, Ryoma drops back to the floor. Xander wipes his face with his sleeve before he looks over and down at Ryoma. "You're being very affectionate today, sir wolf."</p>
<p>Ryoma flips his tail at that, goes back to his head on Xander's thigh. Somehow this does not speed Xander's work.</p>
<p>Between pacing and whining for attention, time stretches out. Eventually, Xander closes his books, shakes his head. "There. That's enough for now. Are you happy now, sir wolf?"</p>
<p>Indescribably. When Xander gets up, Ryoma prances toward the door, looks back at him.</p>
<p>"Yes," Xander says with a sigh. "Yes, I'm coming."</p>
<p>There's an awkward tangle in the hall as Ryoma tries to anticipate where Xander is going and Xander tries to get out in front of him. Xander stumbles, braces himself on the wall; Ryoma presses against his leg.</p>
<p>"I'm still fine," Xander says, shaking his head. "And you are ridiculous. Are all wolves so impatient?"</p>
<p>Not all wolves want to court him.</p>
<p>But they make it to the bedroom from last time without further incident. Ryoma hops up onto the bed immediately, as if he can successfully call dibs by getting to it first.</p>
<p>This, too, Xander sighs at. He moves around the room as Ryoma watches, setting things down, moving them around. Plugging in his phone.</p>
<p>And apparently calling Ryoma again while he's at it. Next time Ryoma does this he's going to leave his phone silenced so Hinoka can't hear it and answer.</p>
<p>"I wonder why Ryoma is always so busy," Xander murmurs. Ryoma points ears at him unconsciously, stops when he realizes he's answering to his human-form name. "His emails are often at odd hours, too."</p>
<p>Sometimes Ryoma is awake with the moon.</p>
<p>"Perhaps he's an insomniac," Xander goes on, musing aloud. Ryoma lays his head down on his paws and tries not to look too interested in what Xander is saying. "Perhaps— no, he said nothing casual, didn't he?"</p>
<p>What was he going to say, Ryoma wonders. It isn't trysts keeping him busy, anyway, unless this counts.</p>
<p>"Perhaps there's some sort of animal emergency." Xander sets down phone and glasses and gloves on the desk. "Perhaps, most likely, it isn't any of my business."</p>
<p>But Ryoma was enjoying the speculation. Should he try to regularize or further randomize his email schedule? This sounds to him like another problem for later.</p>
<p>Xander moves to the door. "Don't come to the bathroom with me," he says over his shoulder.</p>
<p>Ryoma huffs. While Xander is gone he hops off the bed to sniff around again. The gloves on the desk are almost interesting – there's something about the scent he can't quite place, besides leather and dye and ink. Naturally, of course, the issue is that he <em>can't</em> place it. It's warm, Ryoma thinks, but is it only Xander?</p>
<p>Later.</p>
<p>When Xander comes back, he's in pajamas. Flannel pajamas.</p>
<p>Ryoma has to immediately go and shove his nose all over these. Xander laughs softly, but doesn't push him away. "I'm still the same person, sir wolf."</p>
<p>To this Ryoma snorts, but he steps back. He allows Xander to move further around without obstruction – watches clothes folded into a bag, a book taken out. Xander settles on the bed with the book, arranging the pillow to lean on.</p>
<p>Ryoma eyeballs the size of the spot next to Xander. He could probably fit, couldn't he?</p>
<p>Xander, book in one hand, pats the bed very gently with the other.</p>
<p>That's all the invitation Ryoma needs. He springs up onto the bed, circles delicately on the spot to determine the dimensions available, and finally flops down. He props his chin on his paws again – considers it – rests it on Xander's leg again.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Xander says absently, setting his hand on Ryoma. Contentedly, Ryoma sighs, and they are simplified to the sound of the turn of pages, and the tug of Xander's fingers through Ryoma's fur.</p>
<p>There are no more musings on what the human-shaped Ryoma might be up to, and as curious as Ryoma is about what Xander thinks of him, this lovely peace is good enough for the moment.</p>
<p>Ryoma dozes off there, rouses to Xander putting the book away and turning the light off. Obligingly Ryoma moves around to open up space on the bed for Xander.</p>
<p>"I'm still unsure why you're doing this," Xander says, staring at the empty space. "Sharing a bed with a wolf... or with a human, I suppose, from your point of view."</p>
<p>This is solved by Ryoma being neither and both. He thumps his tail on the bed.</p>
<p>Slowly Xander climbs into bed with him; slowly Ryoma shifts his weight to lean against him. Slowly, Xander relaxes.</p>
<p>Ryoma is near to dozing off again when Xander sits up once more, untucks himself from wolf and blankets alike. "Pinching," Xander mutters, hands at one ear.</p>
<p>An earring? Ryoma doesn't remember seeing one, though he's had other priorities. He lifts his head, inhaling with interest.</p>
<p>Something clicks, rattles. Ryoma hears the catch and give of metal more than he sees Xander fumbling at it. And then—</p>
<p>Xander's glowing?</p>
<p>That can't possibly be right.</p>
<p>As Xander gets up, yawning, and goes to the desk in a sleepy meander, Ryoma draws a paw up over his head, down his face. He does this a few times for good measure, licks his nose. Closes his eyes and opens them again.</p>
<p>Still the same.</p>
<p>There's a faint golden glow about Xander now, something like the first light of sunrise slowly suffusing the sky. It's a low glow, not brilliant nor piercing— but warm. Radiant.</p>
<p>When Xander comes back to bed Ryoma presses his nose against him immediately, inhaling deeply and snuffling. Gently Xander laughs, pushes at Ryoma's head. "I only took an earring off," he says.</p>
<p>He smells a little warmer, and Ryoma's nose prickles. Still Xander, though. Still the best thing he's ever had a nose full of. Just a little bit more, now.</p>
<p>As Xander is trying to settle down again Ryoma can't entirely help himself: he licks Xander's face. He needs to know if the taste has changed.</p>
<p>He manages to get a good few licks in before Xander – perhaps accidentally – opens his mouth. The taste investigation is ongoing and cannot be ceased only for this.</p>
<p>Xander splutters, turns his face away. "It's time for <em>bed</em>, sir wolf."</p>
<p>This is too delightful for sleep. Ryoma licks Xander's ear instead.</p>
<p>He does determine that Xander tastes like sunshine before the sleepy grumbling makes him subside. Still, even with his chin propped on Xander, and all other signs pointing to relaxation, Ryoma's mind is racing.</p>
<p>Xander glows. He can't be entirely human. Why does he glow? What is he? (He smells so very nice.) How does he not recognize that Ryoma is more than a normal wolf? Xander seems so oblivious. (But very nice to cuddle up to.) Does Mother know anything? Does Xander? No. Silly question. Obviously he knows he glows.</p>
<p>But what is he? Ryoma hasn't the faintest idea, except that he smells very good. He smells like he's Ryoma's.</p>
<p>Like he could be a home, or part of it.</p>
<p>Ryoma readjusts how his head rests on Xander, so his breath ruffles Xander's barely-glowing hair. He has many questions, but for now, there is this.</p>
<p>He dreams sunlit, and perhaps a little sensual.</p>
<p>In the morning Xander isn't glowing any more, but the first thing he does is grope his way to the desk and reclaim the earring. There's no glow to go out of him, but Ryoma thinks some fullness goes out of his scent nevertheless.</p>
<p>Xander yawns and comes back to bed. His hair is rumpled, curlier than usual.</p>
<p>Ryoma noses at his hand when it's close enough and is rewarded with scratches behind the ear. He leans into this bliss until Xander stops.</p>
<p>"I have things to do today," Xander murmurs. "Don't you have wolf things to do?"</p>
<p>He does. Among his wolf agenda items is courting a mate. Ryoma noses around in pillow and blankets, burrowing into the warm collection of soft and scent.</p>
<p>"I suppose I can't make you leave," Xander says with some resignation.</p>
<p>He moves around the room, putting things in order. Ryoma considers further sleep right up until Xander tries to call him again.</p>
<p>He really needs to find something to do about that. It's going to get very suspicious. Mournfully, Ryoma hops out of bed and goes to the door to scratch at it. This distracts Xander from the phone, at least, and then again when Ryoma demands to be let out the back door as well.</p>
<p>"I'm not putting in a wolf door for you," Xander says as he opens the back door. Ryoma looks up at him and thinks about kissing him.</p>
<p>It would be more fun with a human mouth. Ryoma leans up to lick Xander's fingers and then takes off.</p>
<p>Why can't he just have this every day? Right. The fact that Xander doesn't know he's a wolf.</p>
<p>For now, Ryoma has research to do, and probably a voicemail or two to answer apologetically. He doesn't dawdle on the way home.</p>
<p>When he <em>does</em> get home and into his room, he does so, peculiarly, following Hinoka's voice. She sounds like she's talking to someone, and in his room. Why...?</p>
<p>Ryoma noses around the corner to see. Hinoka's sitting cross-legged on the bed, one hand idly waving in the air though there's no one to see. With the other she holds a phone to her ear. ...Ryoma's phone.</p>
<p>"He's just fine," Hinoka is saying. "Sometimes he just likes to wander into the woods without his phone, you know, like a dumbass—"</p>
<p>Ryoma supposes this is true, even if she's leaving out the part where he's never human at the time. The insult would be one thing, but then his keen ears catch the hint of a low voice on the other end of the phone—</p>
<p>Oh, no. Ryoma vaults onto his bed without thinking further, aims a flying tackle at his sister. He lands almost in her lap, transfers momentum heavily through his shoulder – Hinoka squawks with alarm, going sprawling with the force of it, the phone clattering out of her hand and off the bed.</p>
<p>"—Ms. Morimoto?" Xander's polite, tinny voice inquires from the floor. "Is everything all right?"</p>
<p>Wolf and woman stare at each other. Hinoka slowly sits up, makes like she's going to slide off the bed to the floor.</p>
<p>Oh no she doesn't. Ryoma lunges first, pouncing toward the phone like it's a rabbit. He remembers late he's still a wolf, can't talk like that, and panic edges his mid-air lurch into human form.</p>
<p>He lands heavily and nakedly, the air going out of him. Dazed, he stares at the phone for a moment or two.</p>
<p>"Ms. Morimoto?"</p>
<p>Right. Ryoma picks it up as Hinoka says "Ugh," with feeling and throws a blanket longwise over him.</p>
<p>"Hello," Ryoma says, breathlessly, cheerfully.</p>
<p>"Ah," Xander says. "Hello, Ryoma. Good afternoon."</p>
<p>"Good afternoon," Ryoma echoes, completely unaware of the actual time but assuming Xander is correct. "What has my sister been telling you?"</p>
<p>Xander laughs softly. "Surely everything you'd expect. That you run wild in the woods every chance you get with no regard for common sense – that you need to change your ringtone – that she's pleased I haven't yet been eaten by wolves—"</p>
<p>"It really isn't a serious risk," Ryoma says earnestly. He does appreciate that Hinoka is making some serious effort to meet Xander on a level that has as little father baggage as possible, but he might wish it was less at his expense.</p>
<p>"I know," Xander says, somewhere between amused and fond. Ryoma drinks the sound in. "I, too, have sisters— three of them."</p>
<p>Briefly Ryoma imagines three of Hinoka— then there is a sadder detour, for he, too, has three sisters. Should have.</p>
<p>Had.</p>
<p>"Is everything all right?" Xander inquires.</p>
<p>Ryoma startles. "Ah— yes, sorry. What occasioned your call?"</p>
<p>"Happy visited again," Xander says. "Quite insistently. All seems fine with him, it's only— you're sure this is all right?"</p>
<p>"I'm sure neither of us can really stop him," Ryoma says, "and if you are all right with his presence and being, as you are, considering of relative impacts, it's as fine as anything can be, truly."</p>
<p>Xander is quiet for some few moments, seeming to digest that. "Very well," he says. "I will likely continue to check in, and there are always more questions— but I shall take you at your word regarding his well-being."</p>
<p>"I'm glad," Ryoma says warmly. Perhaps next time Hinoka won't steal his phone. He'll hide it instead.</p>
<p>"One other thing," Xander says, a touch more hesitant than he has been before. "I— are you sure about 'Happy'?"</p>
<p>Thank goodness. "Not especially," Ryoma says. "It's simply become something to call him, since he seems fairly good-natured. If he seems to answer to something else, then by all means."</p>
<p>"I understand." Xander sounds a little brighter. "I'm glad I caught you— please thank your sister for me as well."</p>
<p>"Of course," Ryoma murmurs. "Let me know if and when you want to have that talk about conservation and intervention."</p>
<p>"I'll email you— perhaps sometime next week?"</p>
<p>"I'll look forward to it." They say their goodbyes then, Ryoma trying not to sound too wistful about it as he ends the call.</p>
<p>Hinoka peers over the edge of the bed down at Ryoma. "'He seems good-natured,' huh," she says with a not inconsiderable amount of amusement.</p>
<p>Ryoma is the best elder brother because he does not return a rude gesture. Instead he pushes himself up to sitting, absently drawing the blanket into his lap as he does. "Hinoka, I need your help."</p>
<p>"Sure, I can cover for you," she says easily, dangling a hand down to muss his hair. As Ryoma does need a shower, he permits it. "You're definitely going to have to be the one to tell Mother eventually, though."</p>
<p>Distractedly, Ryoma shakes his head. "No— not that. I may need to tell her where I've been now, in any case. Hinoka— he's not human."</p>
<p>"What?" Hinoka straightens so she can ooze off the bed and thump down beside him, abruptly all serious. "We should have smelled it on him."</p>
<p>Ryoma shrugs vaguely. "Should we? I can only smell <em>him</em>. And he has some limiting magic. An earring, or a cuff— something of the like. When he took it off, he glowed. His scent may have changed a little then, but I can't truly tell. Can you think of anyone who glows by default?"</p>
<p>"Wow," Hinoka says, and nothing more at first. She runs hands back through her hair, ruffling it up and laying it flat again. "Wow, okay. He just did that right in front of you for no reason, yeah? So he really doesn't think you're anything but a wolf? A, a wolf-dog?"</p>
<p>"Unless it was meant as a plausibly deniable way of outing himself, which I doubt," Ryoma says. "The glow... it may have been related to the time of day? In the morning he was dim before he put the earring back on."</p>
<p>"Wait till you tell Mother you're sleeping together," Hinoka says, a little singsong.</p>
<p>Ryoma had rather been hoping to get out of that particular part of the conversation. "The glow," he reminds her. "Thoughts?"</p>
<p>"None." She shrugs again. "If he took some kind of binding off, then his natural state is glows-at-night. Illusions could do glow, but that would be work, not natural state. Not a wolf, not a kitsune, not a human sorcerer, probably not one of Mother's people— we're officially past the limits of my knowledge."</p>
<p>Ryoma had hoped. There are a few calls he can make, contacts among distant other non-humans, but with so little information he'd prefer to leave it for later. Mother is a better first step, even if he'd hoped to keep this secret a little longer.</p>
<p>Hinoka claps him on the shoulder. "Wonder how he's not human and hasn't twigged the same of you."</p>
<p>He has been wondering much the same. "I'll do some research," he says wearily. "And then ask Mother."</p>
<p>"Cheer up," Hinoka suggests. "The whole thing might actually be doable."</p>
<p>Ryoma isn't completely convinced of that. Still: he hopes, even as he shoos Hinoka out of the room and avails himself of the shower.</p>
<p>If it is to work, eventually he's going to have to confess his true nature to Xander as well. There are a very many conversations in his near future which Ryoma doesn't precisely wish to have.</p>
<p>Shower, <em>then</em> research.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Leo, and a river in Egypt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: magic mind-fuckery</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This time, Leo's phone call actually wakes Xander. He startles out of sleep almost at the same time it rings. It's still dark outside – what time <em>is</em> it? </p><p>"Leo," Xander says, managing not to stumble as he gets out of bed. "What time is it?" Surely it's something important for Leo to call this early. Xander makes his way across the room, hunting for his alarm clock. </p><p>"I don't know," Leo says. "Early. You don't have anywhere you have to be, do you?"</p><p>Strictly speaking, no. Xander stops hunting for the clock. Knowing the actual time won't help anything, since he already knows it can't be past seven yet, and he'd rather not be more annoyed than he has to be. He yawns, squeezes his eyes shut and rubs them with one hand for a moment as he tries to marshal his wits. "What is it?"</p><p>Leo might be several hours away, but Xander still tries to be there for him however he can. </p><p>"You remember the research you asked me to do for you, correct?" There's something odd about the way Leo asks. He's almost a little tentative, as if he doesn't know if the answer will be yes or no.</p><p>Xander doesn't know why the answer would be no. "Of course I do," he says, and then actually does have to stop and think about it. What was it…? Ah— that was right. "I was asking you to look into the history and management of the nature reserve at the edge of the city."</p><p>He can almost hear Leo nod, can certainly envision Leo's quick tuck of a chin in answer. "You also sent me a picture of the signatures on the contract you didn't tell me the nature of," Leo goes on. "I already knew it was related to the preserve, so that rather narrowed the list of candidates, but..." He trails off.</p><p>"But?" Xander prompts, shifting the phone to his other ear. Judging the hour too early to sit down in bed and stay awake, he stands near the window, leaning against the wall instead of the glass.</p><p>"It compressed strangely, remember?" Now that Leo mentions it, Xander does recall the conversation, short and text-only. "I couldn't read the other person's name."</p><p>Xander knows Leo well enough to know he's going somewhere with this, at least, even if he can't see the destination from here. "You said you had enough information regardless of the error, if I recall correctly."</p><p>"Mmhm." Leo's quiet another long while; when he speaks again, it's preceded by a distinctly frustrated sigh. "Can you just— bear with me, for a few minutes? I'm going to tell you some things which are going to sound very strange to you, and I'd appreciate it if you just— took it at face value for a bit."</p><p>What does Leo have to say, that he thinks he has to <em>ask</em> Xander to listen to him? "Go on," Xander says, as encouragingly as he knows how.</p><p>"All right." Leo goes on, and Xander closes his eyes, the better to focus on what Leo has to say, perhaps even to imagine that they are nearby. He can practically see Leo gesticulating. "This person— you've told me she's a woman, and I can establish that her name starts with an M. That should be enough to at least start tracking someone down in records, if you know approximately where they're going to be already."</p><p>"That follows," Xander murmurs, with Leo so far. "Should be?"</p><p>"Yeah. She isn't. I mean— it's not that she isn't there," Leo clarifies. "I can confirm that she <em>exists</em>. But actually reading anything her name is in, or remembering it, is more difficult than it has any right to be. Which means there's some kind of protection, a ward, on her identity itself."</p><p>Xander doesn't parse this at all, at first. By themselves, each individual word makes sense. But he can't think— how would you place a protection on identity that prevents people from remembering your name? Fraud prevention, credit locks, these are one thing. What Leo's talking about sounds, tentatively, like something else entirely.</p><p>"Stay with me," Leo says, tone inscrutable. "Fortunately, whatever ward she has doesn't seem to affect those around her to the same degree-- at least, not their identities. I found, for instance, that the person managing the preserve before her was her late husband; but he had taken it over not quite a year previously, when his first wife passed. Also, incidentally, early."</p><p>Xander would rather like to go back to the part about warding her identity, but Leo seems to be on a track. He can always come back to this later, if Leo doesn't elaborate. </p><p>"There aren't any pictures of her, anything with her name on it is illegible or unrememberable, and I don't think it would be beyond the pale to conclude that her husband was murdered, and she seems the most likely culprit," Leo concludes. "This is a woman who has gone out of her way to take over that particular nature reserve while staying as far from the public eye as possible, and you have a contract with her, signed in blood." As he speaks, Leo has grown louder, faster— he pulls himself back to a precise enunciation, bites himself off to take a deep breath. "I know— Xander. I'm aware of the ranch."</p><p>It shouldn't feel like a blow, but it does. Xander has only just barely come around to telling Elise about it, has spent all of his time with it save this past week or so holding the secret close within his chest. "...I see," he says, slow and neutral. </p><p>"Don't worry." Leo sounds tired for a moment. "I understand. I'm not going to say anything. I only bring it up now because I'm concerned for you. Xander— why did you use Siegfried? For your shell company?"</p><p>"I liked the story," Xander says automatically; but it doesn't sound right to him. </p><p>"Xander, it's a tragedy. Siegfried dies because he tricked the valkyrie Brunhild." That doesn't sound like any story Xander's ever heard. But Leo is not commonly wrong – perhaps Xander heard a different story. As he tries to think what it might be, Leo goes on. "Siegfried is <em>also</em> the name of a sword that's supposed to be passed down in our family. A— magic sword."</p><p>"Leo—"</p><p>"<em>Just listen</em>." Resignation mixes with frustration, if Xander is any judge of his brother's tone, but he can't for the life of him figure out where it's coming from. "I've never been able to figure out why you're like this, you know. The instant I start talking about anything like magic in explicit terms, you either find a way to explain it away or you just – move around it. Do you know how frustrating that is, Xander? There's no one else I can talk to about this. Camilla works in iron and heat and fascination – it's not the same. If Elise has anything, she's applying it to flowers and animals."</p><p>Xander listens. He can't do much else. This has the sound of something that has been building for a while – but how could he not have noticed? </p><p>Magic? </p><p>Surely Leo must mean something else. Sleight of hand— no, that doesn't fit with swords. Role-playing...? Closer, but it still doesn't seem right. Fanciful, perhaps, but nothing Xander would have cause to need to explain away or ignore. What <em>is</em> clear is that Leo feels alone, at least in this respect, and Xander must at least try to do something for that. Even if he doesn't understand.</p><p>"Will you explain again?" Xander asks, when Leo stops, breathing a little heavily. "Please? And what— what does all this, this Siegfried, have to do with that woman?" </p><p>"I'm getting there." Leo sounds slightly mollified now, drawing himself together. "You were sleeping, right? You're not wearing your earring?"</p><p>"Of course not." Gold is soft, he'd probably bend it in his sleep.</p><p>"How much are you glowing?" </p><p>Xander stops with his mouth already open to answer, arrested. There <em>is</em> a faint illumination in the room, as there always is; there is no light on, and there rarely is. The dim golden glow is coming off his bared skin. He knows this, and it isn't a surprise, but somehow— to hear Leo talk about it in such specific terms hurts his head. It doesn't seem right, for this to be out in the air.</p><p>"Some," Xander says softly.</p><p>"And you do recognize that's not precisely typical for most humans, right?" Leo prods.</p><p>"I— it's just the way we are, Leo." Xander turns slightly so he can rest his head against the window, appreciating the cool of it.</p><p>There's another sigh from Leo. "Yes," he says. "We are this way. Most humans aren't. And because we <em>are</em> 'this way,' there's a certain amount of things we can do that no one else can, all right? Including handling this old sword-legend. It probably does exist, somewhere. Probably Father has it in his study somewhere."</p><p>Xander realizes belatedly that he's been pressing his fingers into his palm with his free hand, rubbing idly against that birthmark. He scrubs his palm against his pants instead, then drops it to his side. "I'm still not following the connection," he says. "Can you clarify that?"</p><p>"Okay. Just— forget about where the sword is for a minute. What I'm saying is that you have capabilities beyond what normal humans do, capabilities that I would call magic, but for some reason I've never been able to figure out, you can't admit or acknowledge that you do. Despite helping Camilla with her work and glowing after the sun sets, somehow you've managed to get yourself to think you're just mundane. But the one place where there’s something unusual aside from us is this contract. About the ranch. Somewhere you obviously care about, and spend as much time as you can – right?" </p><p>There's no point in denying it now. Xander nods absently, forgetting briefly that Leo can't see him. "—yes. That's a reasonable assessment. It was... it was Mother's."</p><p>"...I see." There's a long, careful pause. Mothers are to be talked around carefully at the best of times, and eventually Leo goes on as if Xander hadn't just said that. "I don't have the finer details figured out yet," Leo admits. Saying he doesn't know something is, frankly, beyond rare for him. "But this is the only other place I've seen this kind of magic, this misdirection and redirection. Designed to conceal not a thing but the <em>idea</em> of her presence. And you have an intimate link. A blood link. All the times I couldn't trace you before— I think you must have been at the ranch."</p><p>Leo's words are starting to run together a little. Xander forces his eyes open, stares out the window at the dark buildings beyond. "My battery truly did die, that time," he offers.</p><p>"I don't track you via your cell phone, Xander," Leo says, fondly exasperated. "If I can't find you, there's more at work. Specifically, this woman."</p><p>Xander doesn't answer, trying to put this together. He isn't sure he believes it all – which he supposes is what Leo is upset about, at least in part. Still— if he focuses on following Leo's train of thought, instead of necessarily how all this affects Xander himself, it's a little easier to keep track of. "You're assuming she's... done something, or is doing something to me," he says slowly. It comes as though from a very long distance away, like sharpening the focus on a telescope. "Why? What would such a person have to gain from causing me some forgetfulness?"</p><p>"I wonder," Leo says, low and dark and sounding as unlike himself as Xander has ever heard him. "As I said. We have certain capabilities, and certain powers. Perhaps she hopes to make use of yours..."</p><p>Xander feels like he would know, if something like that was being taken from him. Wouldn't he? "So what do you mean to do, then?" he asks, for Leo wouldn't have told him all this just to tell him, not if he assumes it's going to be unrecognized. </p><p>"...I'm going to get her attention," Leo says. </p><p>"Are you sure that's wise?" He's not even completely certain what he's asking – just that Leo has a certain sort of grim determination about this, and he's already partially admitted he doesn't know everything. That he's dealing with something or someone quite powerful. Magic or not, that much is plain.</p><p>"I know how to be careful," Leo says. "I'm not being rash. Just— Xander, if you actually remember this for what it is, later, <em>be careful</em>. Things might become a little strange. And <em>don’t</em> go around giving anyone any more of your blood." </p><p>"I think I can avoid that," Xander says, dazedly. He has the vague feeling that he should be objecting more to this, but Leo certainly <em>acts</em> like he knows what he's doing. </p><p>"Can you do me one more favor?"</p><p>"Mm. What is it?" Xander already knows he's almost guaranteed to say yes, but he'd still like to know what Leo needs before agreeing.</p><p>"...Think about this," Leo says, with the barest of hesitations. "Just... try to consider <em>why</em> you justify things off instead of accepting what I tell you straightforwardly. It might help ward off what she's got on you."</p><p>Xander doesn't know how to respond to that at first, doesn't know what to do with his brother genuinely asking him to reconsider why he doesn't believe in magic and spells and people who can make you forget things. It is not the business of everyday life. But: this is his younger brother. </p><p>"I'll try," Xander says.</p><p>"Take care," Leo says, heartfelt, and hangs up. </p><p>Xander stays precisely where he is for some time, closes his eyes again to think. He's already half-convinced he dreamed this; with some effort he tries to wonder about <em>why</em> it feels dreamlike, apart from being very early in the morning, and in a room lit by dim sunlight he himself seems to be generating.</p><p>He doesn't come up with anything. None of this makes sense. If magic could exist, if it runs in their family, surely Father could have used it to rid Xander of the birthmark that troubles Father so, or travel more quickly. If Xander could use such a thing, wouldn't he jump at it, if only to look after his siblings better? If he could guard the ranch himself, he would, such that he'd be assured Father would never find it.</p><p>And there's no reason to murder to gain control of a nature reserve, and then to continue to hold it in good trust. Xander has kept his agreements, and this mystery woman has kept hers. The more Xander thinks about the justifications, the reasons behind everything, the less convinced he is of what Leo has told him.</p><p>He goes back to sleep.</p><p>One thing sticks out above all others, when he wakes again: Leo has asked him to be careful for a little while. That much, Xander can do for him, can't he? </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. alpenglow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The problem with research into what Xander might be is that Ryoma really doesn't have a great deal of first-hand knowledge to work from. Most not-humans, the pack has found, don't like advertising. He knows there are a few other scattered packs – one on the other coast, two in Europe at the least – and that there's a skulk of kitsune who live about a hundred miles north. Their leader visits. He claims he likes the frozen yogurt.</p><p>There are the lords and ladies, of course; but they don't inhabit the same physical realm. And Mother would know, if that man's family was of her kin. That is attention that should not be drawn.</p><p>More peripherally, Ryoma knows of a clan of ice women somewhere in Canada, dryads in the Amazon rainforest, tanuki in Japan – whether they are shifters or illusionists is up for debate – and an unsubstantiated rumor regarding selkies in Sweden. All save the selkies he has some contact information for, passed down from Father and updated sporadically – Ryoma thinks they're still good. They're to pass on warnings, or to ask for help in dire straits, but they are not what Ryoma would call friends. Only allies, through the bonds of common situations.</p><p>And there are human magic-users, here and there— those who have a little distant ancestry in their blood, or who've found some old artifact of gods and kings. Until recently, the pack had assumed Garon was of this ilk. If he isn't human, then...</p><p>Then something. A change in tactics, perhaps.</p><p>Ryoma thinks it over again, amends his mental list to include whatever Orochi is. They think Orochi is some kind of snake-something, but she's not telling, and her name is rather too on the nose if that's what she is. Occasionally they catch something like iridescent scales on her face, but Orochi is good with makeup: it might be that such little evidences are her version of a joke.</p><p>No traits of any of the peoples Ryoma knows of include "glowing, probably only at night."</p><p>For any other options, Ryoma's going to have to resort to folklore. A library trip through Germanic and Scandinavian folklore, in the spirit of following Xander's family name, inspires nothing. Ryoma doubts Xander is a valkyrie. He is also probably not a primeval cow.</p><p>There are any number of spirits, guardian or otherwise, between the many pages in the library— Ryoma takes dutiful notes on these just in case, supposing spirits might glow if they want to, but none of these are an answer. Much as he thought he would have to, later in the week Ryoma goes to ask Mother.</p><p>He asks obliquely at first, in the vague hope that he can get away a little longer without explaining that he's been sneaking out to clandestinely wolf-snuggle his maybe someday-mate.</p><p>"Katerina never told me if she had other heritage," Mother says, a little wistfully, when Ryoma asks after her instead of Xander. "She knew things of magic, and without my having to tell her— but regrettably, my nose isn't as good as yours." Mother gives him an easy smile, kind, always with that same edge of wistfulness. "What brought this on?"</p><p>"Well," Ryoma says, hedging. "Curiosity?"</p><p>"Ryoma," Mother says, a little sternly. It's nearly impossible to lie to her. Concealing by misdirection isn't any more successful.</p><p>"I don't think Xander's human," Ryoma says, all in a rush. "So at least one of his parents isn't, either. And if it's his father—"</p><p>Then what? Then there's more to be wary of; but, potentially, something more to use against him, if only they can figure out what.</p><p>"And what makes you think that?" Mother folds her hands together. In the high backed chair, even just by the study window she looks like a queen holding court.</p><p>Ryoma clears his throat sheepishly. "...he glows," he says. "At night. There's some kind of seal, or limiter, or something that he wears to hide it."</p><p>"I see," Mother murmurs, and fixes Ryoma with a sterner gaze. "How did it come to pass that he took such a thing off in front of you?"</p><p>Ryoma looks down, trying not to feel guilty. He knows it was not his sharpest choice. And yet – if it was all he'd have – he couldn't resist it, in the end. "I've been visiting the ranch," he says. "As a wolf. I've... stayed overnight on a few occasions. He still believes me no more than an animal."</p><p>"Ah. Hence the glow." Mother presses fingers gently to her temples. She looks so very tired more and more often, and Ryoma hates to have caused it. "Ryoma— must I tell you why such a thing was unwise?"</p><p>"The ranch is under some protections," Ryoma says. "Which you yourself— well. I knew there was some risk, that I might be discovered, but I've been careful—"</p><p>"My son," Mother says, cutting him off with her terrible compassion. "If you mean to court, you will not be able to hide this trespass. Your other form is distinctive."</p><p>Ah.</p><p>It's nothing Ryoma hadn't been thinking himself, but to hear it from Mother makes it a realer problem, one that cannot be put off for later. That first occasion could truly have been written off as only an accident, but those after were conscious and repeated. Urgent and short-sighted.</p><p>If he <em>can</em> build something with Xander, it must be on honest ground.</p><p>Mother stands, and she comes around her desk to tug Ryoma down into a hug. "An honest confession has its values, too," she murmurs into his ear. "You risked only yourself by separating from the pack but remaining within my protection— but you could not predict anything else that might happen. Such as your Xander not being human. All is well so far, but Ryoma, you cannot go back as you have been. I forbid it."</p><p>He whines in the back of his throat, though he doesn't mean to. "Even if he isn't human, he hasn't sensed my nature. It's safe enough."</p><p>"The charm," Mother reminds him, steadily. “The earring. Some member of his family made it, and gave it. If he is not aware, then someone in his life <em>is</em>. His father certainly is. And besides that, my son, I wish for your happiness as well as the safety of the pack. The more you deceive, the more difficult it will be to forgive. That is enough."</p><p>She releases the embrace then, holds him by the shoulders at arm's length. Ryoma ducks his head. He has easily six inches on her if not more, and the disappointment still makes him feel small.</p><p>"Speak to him as a human," Mother advises then. "I will do my own research on what he may be. Between Katerina and his father I suspect some being of Norse origin— but it's difficult to say from here. You are sure you saw nothing but the glow?"</p><p>"It was gone when we woke, even before he put the earring on again," Ryoma says distantly. "A light like daylight. And it made his scent more of what he is, but that was all."</p><p>Mother's gaze goes far-off, like she's trying to recall something. "Perhaps," she says slowly. "Perhaps. There was something we knew once, we of the hills, but a long time ago. Kin, but not quite..." She trails off, and there is nothing more.</p><p>It isn't much to go on. "I wonder if Xander himself even knows," Ryoma says softly.</p><p>"It may be that the bloodline is very thready, or the history lost," Mother says, eyes clearing as she focuses on him. "I will look further, in my own memories and our texts. Ryoma, meanwhile—"</p><p>"I know," Ryoma says heavily as she lets go of him. "Only as a human, and only carefully."</p><p>"Thank you," Mother says, and Ryoma flees as soon as he can do so without it looking like he's fleeing.</p><p>He tries not to sulk about the restriction. He has liked having the look at Xander unguarded— he wants to be in such a position that he can lick his face, have those hands buried earnestly in his fur.</p><p>But it is dishonest, and Ryoma has known this even before Mother reminded him. It's only that in the face of that scent, that tiny deep smile, it hadn't seemed to matter all that much.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't know how he's meant to be honest with Xander and keep the pack safe all at once. It feels like he's back where he started with the impossible problem, only now he wants more than he did than when they began.</p><p>He resorts to curling up four-legged in his bed, tail over his nose and dreaming, daydreaming. Later in the day Sakura joins him, matching nap for nap in quiet reassuring companionship. Things are always better this way, fur pressed to fur, knowing the one beside you means to face the future with you.</p><p>All the same, Ryoma doesn't bother to get up until somewhere in the wee hours of the next morning. Human-shaped, lazy in a plush robe, he takes up his laptop and leans against Sakura's warmth. She barely stirs. He may as well take advantage of the wakefulness to work through some emails.</p><p>His heart leaps to see that Xander's is one of them. As he had implied, Xander is asking after times that would be convenient for Ryoma to meet.</p><p>It can't be a date, with Xander uninterested in long-term and Ryoma incapable of a casual liaison. Ryoma really will need to be honest with himself as well as Xander on that front.</p><p>But for just a little while, he dreams of it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. red signal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a light feeling in Xander's gut, threatening to bubble up to his chest, and ignoring it isn't helping. Yet again he tells himself this isn't a date, that it would be a terrible sort of foolishness to let himself fall into that line of thinking or to accidentally lead Ryoma on. Truly, realistically, there is no practical way to pursue anything.</p>
<p>This is a matter of curiosity. Business, even. People with similar professional interests meeting to discuss how their expertise may be of collaborative use. Coffee houses are often settings for professional meetings out of work hours. </p>
<p>Xander tells himself this, but he still eyes the street outside with a telltale sort of anticipation. He may have to refuse to see Ryoma again, after this. At least for a while; at least until he has stopped being stupid. </p>
<p>Despite his watch on the street, Ryoma still surprises him, drops into the chair opposite with a warm smile that does uncomfortable things to Xander's resolve. "I hope you weren't waiting long." He sets a slim binder on the table, brushes the tail of his hair back over his shoulder. His style is much the same as it was before, an interesting mix of traditional and modern. It suits him well.</p>
<p>There is no reason to be nervous.</p>
<p>"Not long," Xander says, half-truthfully. "I believe I'm the one who was early, in any case."</p>
<p>"That's fair," Ryoma says. "I haven't been here before— I didn't even know this place was here. It's nice." </p>
<p>Xander wishes he could take more credit for it, but he hasn't been here before either. He wanted a coffee shop that wasn't exceptionally popular, wasn't near the city center, wasn't someplace he'd ever been before. Perhaps his precautions are excessive, since this isn't a date.</p>
<p>And perhaps it's difficult to take his eyes off Ryoma when he gets up for coffee. </p>
<p>When Ryoma settles again it’s with a pastry and some drink topped with a pile of whipped cream. Xander has been fumbling for how to begin – he recalls they meant to talk of conservation and husbandry, of the spaces where human and nature intersect – but for some several painful moments he can't think how to get there, until Ryoma starts for him. "I feel I should also apologize for how sporadically I've been available to help," Ryoma says, perhaps sheepishly. "I keep odd hours, and Hinoka will tell you I'm prone to leaving my phone at home. You haven't had any further encounters with Happy?"</p>
<p>Xander cannot help but think of a cold nose shoved into his hand, of the inquisitive wolf attempting to take ownership of his accounting books, of the solid warm weight of the presence at his back. He regrets that he hasn't, even if he knows it's better for the wolf to be apart from humans. No matter how much dog he might have in him. </p>
<p>Belatedly, he shakes his head. "No— not since the last time."</p>
<p>"I see," Ryoma murmurs, eyes downcast at his coffee. </p>
<p>There is something there Xander has missed, he thinks, but it leaves him only with the nagging feeling of a missed connection.</p>
<p>"I know you have said some limited contact with – Happy – will do little harm, but I must confess I still worry," Xander manages eventually. The name still gives him turns, no matter how he tries to adjust to it. <em>Sir wolf</em> fits at least a little better. It's difficult to think of the wolf himself as <em>Happy</em>. </p>
<p>Ryoma shakes his head. "It is better for a wolf to be wary than afraid," he says. "Ah— hm. Let me put it this way. The earth is seventy-one percent ocean; the land comprises the remaining twenty-nine percent. Of that twenty-nine percent, thirty-eight percent has a population density of less than one person per kilometer." He has these statistics to hand so easily, it's clearly something he's talked on before, but he's still bright and animated as he goes on. "That's including tundra, desert, other places that don't lend themselves very well to human habitation. The idea of <em>true</em> wilderness is pretty much a fantasy, at this point – even places we would think of as untouched bear the marks of humanity by virtue of cascading effects. What’s “wild” is narrowing by the day, and while the attempts to preserve land and wildlife in refuges and national parks do help biodiversity and climate, it is also very much an uphill battle, as it is less immediately profitable. And none of it will truly be <em>untouched</em> again. If it ever was."</p>
<p>Xander knows this much better than he would like. "It sounds a little hopeless, when you put it like that." </p>
<p>"Well." Ryoma grimaces. "Yes and no. Yes, it's impossible to return to an earth completely unmarked by humans. But no, I don't think that's a bad thing. The efforts in place are worthwhile, and they do <em>work</em>, if slowly. And we live in a time where people can see wild creatures, and learn about them, much more safely than in times past. For every bit of harm done, there's also someone inspired to do more, to do better. And— not to put too fine a point on it, but that is why I say it is better for a wolf – or any animal, I suppose – to be wary instead of afraid. Wary creatures will be cautious, will leave quickly if a situation isn't to their liking. Fearful animals turn aggressive quickly. If they feel cornered, if they're startled... and wolves have a bad enough reputation as it is."</p>
<p>"I presumed that was why it would be bad for him to grow too close to humans, as well," Xander says, when Ryoma pauses for a sip of his drink. "I've done some research of my own – even wild animals considered tame aren't necessarily <em>safe. </em>I wasn't aware until recently how many groups want to lift restrictions on hunting wolves – any aggressive move would be sufficient justification, would it not?"</p>
<p>Ryoma hesitates strangely, finally nods. "The other thing that must be taken into account, then, is Happy himself," he says, sitting back. "His particular hybrid is something that cannot exist without human intervention in the first place. I suppose it might even be what drives him to seek human companionship, in some respects. As a wolf-dog, he is caught between the wild and the human. Is it right, then, to deny the inconvenient parts of that heritage? We cannot ask him to be less a wolf; but we cannot ask him to be less a… dog, either."</p>
<p>"Hm." Xander turns this over. It seems one slice of the philosophy Ryoma had hinted at before, the concept that as humans they have already intervened and so their duty is to intervene carefully and responsibly, not to simply leave the wreckage to fall where it may. </p>
<p>"If you were uncomfortable with his presence, this might be a different conversation," Ryoma adds softly, and when Xander glances up their eyes catch, and there is something warm and intent there, something that makes warmth coil up in Xander in response. "If he had intimidated horses or students, or caused genuine fear— but so long as you have no concerns for his behavior, and are in turn careful for your own safety, there shouldn't be a problem."</p>
<p>Xander should hate to see the wolf gone for good, wise or unwise. </p>
<p>He holds Ryoma's eyes longer than he should, finally glances away and clears his throat. There's a quick casting-about for anything else; his gaze lands on the binder Ryoma brought with him. "May I ask?" he says, indicating with half a reach.</p>
<p>Ryoma nudges the binder toward him, creating clear invitation. "By all means," he says. "It may be things you already know—" </p>
<p>The discussion grows steadily more in-depth. The materials Ryoma has brought all regard harmonious living with nature, one way or another, from minimally-toxic pesticides to the best ways to discourage deer. Some of the environmental practices Xander has already put into use at the ranch; others he marks as future possibilities, brightens when Ryoma makes it clear that this is for Xander to take with him for reference. They go through another round of coffees, a heartier quiche as a lunch. </p>
<p>Xander's glad he set the whole day aside, but no less startled when he checks his phone and finds a full three hours have already passed. "If you want anything further, I can get it while I'm up?" he offers, setting his phone to mark his place in the binder as he rises. </p>
<p>"Ah—" Ryoma looks distracted; his eyes flick from the revealed time back to Xander. "—hot chocolate, I think, this time." </p>
<p>"Certainly." Xander takes the few minutes to settle himself again, and finds he doesn't need to do as much work as he'd thought. It is easier than he anticipated, simply talking with Ryoma like this. He hasn't felt self-conscious in— hours. (It isn't a date.) He could stay here as long as Ryoma has the time for, and he isn't even precisely sure what more they'd talk about, only that surely anything would be fascinating.</p>
<p>He might have a problem. He's trying very hard not to.</p>
<p>When he returns to their table, though, and sets Ryoma's drink down in front of him, there's a distant thoughtful frown on Ryoma's face, at odds with how they'd been talking. "Is everything all right?" Xander asks, forward where he might not have been earlier, as he takes his own seat up again. </p>
<p>"Hm?" Ryoma almost seems startled, as though he'd been somewhere very far away, when he focuses on Xander. "Ah— yes." He smiles, though it looks perhaps a little strained, and tilts his head toward the binder. "I caught sight of your background. I don't mean to intrude, but— your family?"</p>
<p>Of course, Ryoma has met none of them. Xander takes up his phone, goes to find the photo proper unobscured by icons. "A portrait from a few years ago," he says, absently double checking there's nothing that shouldn't be in the photos to either side. </p>
<p>He's ridiculous – Ryoma isn't Father, and certainly isn't going to judge him. </p>
<p>“You mentioned sisters, didn’t you?” Ryoma says. This sounds tentative, if Xander's any judge, someone unsure if he's allowed to step where he is going. </p>
<p>"Three sisters, one brother," Xander provides. The fondness for them even at a mercenary enumeration of their quantity is inescapable. "All of them save my closest sister are away at boarding school. Is it only you and Hinoka?" He turns the screen around to display the photo, not quite bold enough to hand the phone over entirely.</p>
<p>"I have another brother and sister besides." Ryoma bends his head to look, head at a slight angle, hand splayed on the table as though he wishes to reach and is restraining himself. "Takumi and Sakura. We had—" His throat works, vaguely hypnotizing for a moment or two, and then he cuts himself off. "No. I— forgive me. What are their names?"</p>
<p>What had he been going to say, Xander wonders. But names are a decently innocuous thing to wonder after, when he has already had them given in turn. "Camilla is the eldest," he says, indicating. "Elise the youngest. Leo and Corrin like to argue about who is older—"</p>
<p>"They're twins?" Ryoma asks. He doesn't sound like himself. But he seems to realize this, too, clears his throat and takes another sip.</p>
<p>Something is wrong here. "Not quite," Xander says cautiously. "They're close in age, but Corrin is adopted, and we don't know precisely— are you all right?"</p>
<p>Ryoma has curled in on himself, head nearly resting on the table, arms drawing in. "I," he says. "I don't—" </p>
<p>He sounds disjointed, scattered. Forgetting himself, Xander reaches out to touch his wrist, to see if perhaps he's feverish. And his skin <em>is</em> hot to the touch – but Ryoma jerks back from him, with a sound that isn't quite right, and there's something wrong with his eyes. "I have to go," Ryoma says, in a moment of pained clarity. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>Almost as soon as that, he's gone, chair pushed back with such force that it almost falls, drink forgotten. His coat still hangs there, forgotten. Xander sees a flash of mahogany past the window, and then— nothing. </p>
<p>What did he do? What did he <em>do</em>? Dread curls up cold to replace the earlier easy warmth. Xander should run after him, see that he's all right even if Ryoma doesn't necessarily want to talk to him— </p>
<p>The temporary paralysis has cost him. By the time Xander makes it outside, bill settled and Ryoma's coat over his arm, there's no sign of him. Xander glances up and down the street, gets a few curious looks but nothing else. Does he go home and try to contact Ryoma later, when – things may be better? He doesn't even know if Ryoma is ill or if he's offended. </p>
<p>He is still craning his neck for some sign of Ryoma when sound distracts him. Something not quite familiar, but known nevertheless, a pitched sound that starts low and ascends plaintively. With no way to locate Ryoma, Xander opts to follow the sound. It's better than paralysis; it's better than nothing. </p>
<p>He follows around the corner, around the side of the building into the alley between it and the next, and there, sitting beside the café's dumpster with his nose pointed skyward to howl, is Happy.</p>
<p>The wolf breaks off when he hears Xander, tilts his head with ears pointed focused at him. For a moment Xander stands frozen, studying those eyes. Then Happy opens his mouth to howl again, impossibly louder now, and Xander recollects with a jolt that – even if he is part dog – this is a wolf in a very urban area. He can't be here. </p>
<p>And just as Ryoma has gone, too. Xander wonders if he would even pick up, if he saw Xander calling at this point. What is he supposed to do? </p>
<p>Happy's howl trails off mournfully. Xander is surely anthropomorphizing too much. But he remembers, too, during one of his research stints, learning that wolves howl to call to each other, to find their pack. It doesn't answer why Happy might be calling out for family behind an uptown café, but nevertheless Xander can't leave him. </p>
<p>Someone is going to want to know why there's howling out here very soon. Xander glances both ways. No Ryoma. He could try the rehab center, but can't guarantee a useful answer. Above all, he wants to prevent anything from happening to the wolf, which means getting him out of the city as soon as possible. </p>
<p>Xander is surely about to do something very foolish. He moves toward Happy, slow, striving to appear non-threatening. Friend, not challenge. Close enough to touch – he reaches out gingerly with his free hand, brushes fingertips against Happy's shoulder.</p>
<p>There isn't a third howl. Happy stands up, shakes briefly and briskly, and in his eloquently demanding sort of way he shoves his head under Xander's arm, effectively forcing Xander to pet him. </p>
<p>Shaky, Xander lets out a breath and does just that. The wonder hasn't stopped.</p>
<p>The back door to the café pops open. "Everything okay out here?" </p>
<p>"Um," says Xander. Happy leans heavily against his side, but there's something low and rumbling in his chest. Xander hopes that's only felt, not heard. "Fine. I— my dog. Got out."</p>
<p>"Shit, man, glad you found him." The employee comes into view. Probably a baker, by the apron and dusts of flour. She looks over the situation, takes in Happy's clear affection and Xander's hand in his ruff. "Need anything? I might have some spare rope or something—"</p>
<p>"Please," Xander says. "Thank you."</p>
<p>Happy whuffs something peculiarly indignant in the vicinity of Xander's hip. "Hush," Xander says absently. "I need to get you home safely. You'll have to put up with a little until then."</p>
<p>He's telling a wolf to put up with a makeshift leash, the very distant and alarmed part of his mind informs him. This is impossible and foolish and shouldn't be happening, can't be happening. Xander has to ignore this. There's no other choice, if he wants to do what he needs to. Xander sets his things and Ryoma's coat down, and undoes his belt. </p>
<p>Abruptly he has Happy's entire attention, and the wolf's pupils have gone very wide, making his eyes darker and mysterious. He sniffs at Xander's hands, at his hips, at the belt. "Will you let me?" Xander asks gravely, on the off chance that it will work.</p>
<p>There's a long still pause. Xander reaches. Happy doesn't duck away.</p>
<p>Between this careful assaying and a short rope the baker claims was liberated from the morning's coffee shipment, Xander constructs something of a makeshift collar and leash, which Happy at least tolerates. Xander takes up Ryoma's coat again, secures the binder full of data in the crook of his elbow and wraps the rope carefully around his right hand. The gloves will do to save him against ropeburn if Happy does pull.</p>
<p>Happy doesn't seem interested in pulling. Mostly he seems interested in Xander. There's a brief leaning around Xander's legs for a sniffing inspection of Ryoma's coat, during which his ears and whiskers flicker forward with some interest, but that's it. "Please," Xander murmurs. "Sir wolf, do please come with me politely. I would like to get you home."</p>
<p>There's a flicker of tongue across the hand holding the rope, so fast Xander doesn't even place what it is for several moments. </p>
<p>Off they go.</p>
<p>Xander didn't park a very long walk away. It's still too far. There are more than a few comments on what a large and beautiful dog he has, at least one person eying Happy suspiciously, and a small child who attempts to pet without asking first. On most of these occasions Happy presses hard against Xander's thigh, rumbling low and warning, and Xander hurries them along.</p>
<p>He doesn't rumble at the child, though that one was the incident Xander was most worried about. On the whole, Xander concludes, Happy isn't aggressive, he just has a very narrow set of preferences for who should be touching him.</p>
<p>He still can't entirely believe this is happening.</p>
<p>As though to insist that it is, in fact, happening, Happy attempts to get into the driver's side of the car. "No, that's—" Xander tries, starting after him, and winds up spitting out wolf tail. </p>
<p>His car is not a large car. It was not made for wolves. Braced on the doorframe, Xander stands and ponders for several moments as Happy contends with the gear shift. There will be tooth marks, which Xander goes ahead and resigns himself to now. At least he can stow the rest of his things and Ryoma's coat in the back while Happy is busy.</p>
<p>He doesn't care to bet on his odds of getting a wolf back <em>out</em> of his car. Rearranging him, however... Xander goes around to open the passenger door, whistles low to catch Happy's attention. Ears swivel toward him attentively even as Happy leaves a trail of damp nose prints across the dashboard. "Sir wolf," Xander says hopefully. "Will you come over here, please? <em>Happy</em>."</p>
<p>He will never have an easy time believing that's the wolf's name, apparently. But nevertheless in a moment or two Happy picks his head up to look at Xander properly. Xander pats the passenger seat hopefully, and he swears he can see the wolf thinking about whether he cares to take up this invitation.</p>
<p>It's not entirely graceful, but Happy does finally move toward Xander, struggling a little over the console between seats. One of his back legs braces precariously there anyway as Happy reaches the minimum distance required to start licking Xander's face. "That's enough," Xander says, or tries to say. He's forgotten how determined at licking Happy can be, and the result is a brief mouthful of wolf tongue. He gets one hand braced against Happy's chest, deep in his ruff – there's something prickling like static electricity, even through leather – and with a careful shove Xander retreats and closes the door. </p>
<p>Happy paws at the window. His paws are, suitably for his size, massive.</p>
<p>Xander gets back to the driver's seat in a hurry as Happy turns himself around in the narrow space. Mercifully Xander's prepared for it when Happy tries to climb into his lap – he sets up a firm arm-bar to rebuff him. "No," he says, equally firm. "I need to drive."</p>
<p>The wolf whines.</p>
<p>"You cannot stand on me while I drive," Xander says flatly. "It's bad enough I can't buckle you in. Will you <em>please</em> settle down?"</p>
<p>There's some further whining, and Happy turns around once more, hitting Xander in the face with his tail. But: he does, incredibly, settle untidily in the passenger seat, two of his legs draping over the edge and his chin braced between their seats. </p>
<p>"Thank you," Xander says with great dignity. He doesn't care to examine how surreal his day has become, instead starting the car. </p>
<p>Happy gets up – Xander lifts his arm to ward him off again – Happy lies down with a great sigh, this time slightly further toward Xander. It is probably the best they're going to get. While he can, Xander undoes rope and belt, tossing both into the back. Unfettered, Happy stays precisely where he is.</p>
<p>Very, very carefully, Xander starts to drive. </p>
<p>Happy seems a touch restless as they go, though at least he doesn't try to climb into Xander's lap again. He's also patently uninterested in the window Xander cracks open and the low burr of the heat clicking on; each of these things individually only gets a cursory sniff and flicker of ears. Instead Happy seems to be oozing toward Xander, increasingly awkward owing to the obstacle of the console between seats, but determined anyway. By the time they're halfway there's a heavy wolf head propped on Xander's thigh, warm and whining slightly. Nothing seems to settle the whining, and Xander is driving anyway, but once or twice Happy stops when Xander has to touch him in order to shift gears.</p>
<p>It's a minor miracle they make it safely to the rehab center. Xander sits in the parking lot for a long moment. Happy doesn't try to get up. Eventually Xander gives into the quiet temptation, rests one hand on the broad arc of the wolf's head, just between his ears.</p>
<p>Happy sighs heavily. It sounds, perhaps, contented. When Xander looks at him proper, he finds the wolf looking back, peacefully intent, and for a peculiar moment Xander feels – seen. Properly seen, like here is someone who only knows what he <em>is</em>, not what he's supposed to be. </p>
<p>Perhaps that's why people own dogs. </p>
<p>He's loath to disturb the moment, but they're here for a reason. Carefully, wistfully, Xander smooths his hand back along the thick fur of Happy's neck, rests again at his shoulders. It is better for him, to be a wild thing, but Xander could get used to a world where the wolf comes and goes at the ranch as he pleases, takes up Xander's bed without any sort of care or permission.</p>
<p>He shouldn't, but he could. </p>
<p>Regretfully, Xander gets out of the car. Happy immediately starts whining, which does not do much for Xander's resolve.</p>
<p>He half-expects that once he opens the passenger door the wolf will simply bolt off into the wilds. He doesn't. Happy pours himself out of the car in one long almost-falling motion, stretches out long and luxurious, and then— stands there, watching Xander attentively as Xander retrieves Ryoma's coat, drapes it over his arm, and locks the car. This brings a further touch of worry – Xander had forgotten temporarily in the rush to get the wolf out of town, but he doesn't know if Ryoma's well or not, nor precisely what happened to bring such a precipitous end to what had been a previously lovely conversation.</p>
<p>He'd been resolving that he shouldn't see Ryoma again for a little while, at least until Xander himself could stop being foolish. Now that thought is further painful.</p>
<p>Happy, whining, pulls Xander out of these thoughts. Xander shakes his head, and sighs softly, and heads into the rehab center, holding the door for the wolf behind him.</p>
<p>There are two people there: an unconcerned young woman sitting behind the front desk, only just visible in a flash of dyed-blue hair, and the woman leaning on the front of the desk talking to her. Though her back is turned, Xander is decently sure from the muscular frame and short crop of red hair that this is Hinoka Morimoto again. Perhaps... perhaps she can shed some light on any number of things, even if she is not the Morimoto he might have hoped for.</p>
<p>"Holy shit," the receptionist says blankly, as Xander clears his throat. </p>
<p>Hinoka turns and freezes, eyes flicking between Xander and the wolf next to him. Her complexion goes pale. "What," she says flatly, more punctuation than question. </p>
<p>Now that the moment is here, Xander barely knows how to explain. "...good afternoon," he says, well aware it's inane.</p>
<p>Hinoka rubs a hand across her eyes, looks again. "What the <em>fuck</em>," she says, with feeling. "Why isn't Ryoma dealing with this."</p>
<p>It strikes Xander uncomfortably. He settles himself, breathes carefully. "I was hoping you might have seen him," he says, a little slow, making sure all the words come out correctly. "I— suppose the details don't matter right now, but I'm concerned about him. However, I found – ah – Happy, here, near the café we were at, and… I didn't think a wolf in such a populated area was a good idea. This was all I could think of."</p>
<p>There's silence for a moment or two. Even Happy doesn't move. Hinoka looks from Xander to the wolf. "What do you think you're doing, you overgrown dingo?"</p>
<p>"I beg your pardon," Xander says with a frown. Happy moves now only to shove himself between Xander's legs and the door behind them, knocking Xander forward a step to do so.</p>
<p>"Not you," Hinoka says, and sighs heavily. "Okay. Uh." </p>
<p>She doesn't provide anything further immediately. Somewhere behind Xander, Happy whines softly.</p>
<p>"...what happened with Ryoma?" Hinoka finally asks. "Why isn't he... here? You two were out together, right?"</p>
<p>Xander would have thought the wolf was the immediate priority. "I don't exactly know," he says carefully, well aware he's dealing with as protective a sister as Camilla, in her way. "I'm not certain if Ryoma grew ill, or if I said something wrong. He left – very quickly." He lifts Ryoma's coat as evidence, a little helplessly.</p>
<p>Hinoka studies him a moment further, frowning, but when she advances on him she doesn't look threatening. She takes the coat from him, checks the pockets and comes up with Ryoma's phone. "Of course," Hinoka says, shakes her head, and lays coat and phone both on the counter. "I'll take them home. Why don't <em>both</em> of you come this way? You can tell me exactly what happened, and I can take a look at our friend here to make sure nothing's wrong with him."</p>
<p>"Is that all right for him?" Xander asks, with some mild concern. Ryoma had said that they'd minimized the number of people who treated Happy, before, in order to limit human contact. </p>
<p>Hinoka is already turning down the hall. She waves one hand over her shoulder. "It's fine, I've looked at him before. Get out of the entry, will you? Setsuna's got someone bringing an adolescent hawk in, and I don't want feathers everywhere."</p>
<p>Despite this urging, Xander is hesitant as he follows. There is a reluctant click of nails on tile beside him, as Happy trails him; his head is down, his ears angled back. This is not, to Xander's knowledge, particularly pleased body language. And yet, nevertheless, the wolf goes without complaint. He is acting more domesticated than Xander had thought or Ryoma had let on.</p>
<p>"In here," Hinoka says. 'In here' proves to be a reasonably bare room with solid metal cabinets and drawers against the far wall, a low table in the middle of the room, and not much else. She's unassuming in dress, old jeans and a tank top as though the winter isn't steadily encroaching outside, but she holds herself like she owns the place, and holds the stethoscope she's retrieved as though she means business. </p>
<p>She pats the table. Happy looks, as far as Xander can judge wolves, offended. Hinoka pats the table again, this time tapping her fingers insistently. Without any real animosity, Happy lifts his lip to expose an assortment of impressive teeth. There's no growling – it seems like display, like they're having a conversation.</p>
<p>Hinoka bares teeth right back at him, though hers are short and much less impressive. Xander bites back a laugh. </p>
<p>Happy does vault up on the table.</p>
<p>"So," Hinoka says, as Happy shakes himself and sends loose fur flying. "Start talking. Walk me through it. You said Ryoma bolted?"</p>
<p>Xander is fairly certain he hadn't used that exact word, but he supposes Hinoka knows her brother. He nods, hesitating only a little. "We talked for quite a while. I had thought things were going well. We were speaking of our families... and then Ryoma said he needed to go, and he just— left. Very quickly."</p>
<p>"Hunh." Hinoka makes a noncommittal sound, pressing the stethoscope end up somewhere under Happy's chest. She doesn't look particularly attentive to the wolf, but then again Xander doesn't know her very well. He may be reading her expressions all wrong. "Then what?"</p>
<p>"I tried to follow," Xander admits. "By the time I got out to the street, however, he was gone. And not long after that, I heard – Happy – howling."</p>
<p>Hinoka quirks a smile. "You really don't like that name, do you." </p>
<p>"It doesn't seem to suit him," Xander says, pained. He's hovering somewhere between the door and the exam table, not sure whether to move closer or get as far out of Hinoka's way as possible, or simply go away entirely.</p>
<p>"Hah," Hinoka says, a mirthless burst of a chuckle. She puts the stethoscope down, lifts one of Happy's paws to check the pads. "You said he was near the café?"</p>
<p>"Behind it, near their trash," Xander confirms. "I don't know when he got there or how long he'd been there. It didn't seem like he'd been searching for food?"</p>
<p>Hinoka moves on to another paw. "He wouldn't need to," she says. "He didn't seem distressed?"</p>
<p>Xander lifts one shoulder uncomfortably, half a shrug. "I'm not certain," he says. "He responded easily enough to me, and he let me lead him away, but he had been howling, as I said. Wolves call their pack that way, do they not?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Hinoka says. "You've been doing your research."</p>
<p>"I am interested," Xander says, earnest and honest. "And I would like to... do right by him." He fumbles over the words a little, but it's true enough.</p>
<p>Hinoka puts down Happy's third paw and looks at him, more sharply considering, over the wolf. Her eyes are odd, Xander notes. There's an amber quality to them that makes her stare especially piercing. Had they always been that way? </p>
<p>"Damn it," Hinoka says with a sigh, and looks away. "Okay. Look, if you want to go over the conversation in a little more detail, I can probably guess what made him leave. You look lost enough I'm going to assume you didn't mean to, so I might as well minimize whatever soap opera you've got going on."</p>
<p>Somehow, this isn't what Xander expected. "Will you convey him my apologies, when he returns?" he asks hopefully. "I mean to do so myself, of course, but— I don't know if he will answer me, nor precisely what I ought to be apologizing for."</p>
<p>Hinoka ruffles up her own hair, shakes her head. "How are you real?" she asks softly, then waves a hand. "Never mind that. Yeah, I'll let him know. Start talking. Families?"</p>
<p>"Families," Xander confirms. "We had been speaking for the most part on environmentalism and wildlife and so on, but he was curious about a picture on my phone. From there we began to speak of siblings, and—" He spreads his hands apart, drops them. "You are aware of the rest."</p>
<p>"Siblings, huh." Hinoka's expression is unreadable. "Not usually a hot button topic with us. Unless— hm." She tilts her head at him; Happy turns himself to sniff at her. It doesn't quite look like curiosity, but Xander can't put a name to what's going on between wolf and woman, either. "No, I assume you weren't dumb enough to insult anyone?"</p>
<p>"Of course not." He's a little affronted she even had to ask. "He clearly loves you all very much."</p>
<p>Improbably this is what makes Hinoka go a little red. "Yeah, yeah." She rests a hand comfortably on Happy's shoulder. "I really can't think of anything. Mm... did Corrin come up at all?"</p>
<p>"I— yes. How did you know?" Xander's taken aback. Ryoma had had to ask his siblings' names. </p>
<p>"Might be it," Hinoka says thoughtfully. "Ryoma... still wants to believe she's alive, you know? I mean, I do too, but—" She breaks off, blots annoyedly at her eyes with the back of her wrist. </p>
<p>It occurs to Xander not a moment too soon that they are now talking about two different sisters named Corrin. Ryoma had not, in fact, mentioned a – dead? – sister named Corrin, but now Xander doesn't know how to walk it back. "I'm sorry," he murmurs finally, at a loss. </p>
<p>How strange, though. Corrin doesn't sound of a piece with the rest of their names, and it's hardly a common one. </p>
<p>Hinoka waves him off. "It's been fifteen years," she says with a shrug. "If that's what it was about, though, he's not upset at you, just sad. He'll be fine. Text him or something, it'll make his day."</p>
<p>"That's— good to know," Xander says faintly. He really should stop seeing Ryoma. But he tugs his phone out of his own pocket nevertheless, meaning to at least set a reminder to himself. </p>
<p>"That the picture?" Hinoka says, with some vague interest. "You and your family?"</p>
<p>"Hm? Yes." Judging it harmless enough, Xander turns it to show her. </p>
<p>Hinoka sucks breath in sharply, going the same pale shade she had when Xander showed up. "Oh," she says, and, "<em>Oh</em>," and, "...you need to go home, now."</p>
<p>"Pardon me?" Xander cannot for the life of him see how that little action has evoked this reaction. But as if on cue, Happy starts to rumble, picking his head up to look between Xander and Hinoka. Xander can't tell who he's growling at. </p>
<p>"Don't <em>start</em>," Hinoka snaps, but her lip is trembling. "König. Get out. Go home. I promise. I'll tell Ryoma you were here."</p>
<p>Xander pockets his phone again, ill at ease with simply leaving like this. Something is wrong, just as it was back in the café, and he would mend it if he only knew <em>what</em>. "I'm sorry," he says, having nothing else to offer. "What have I—" No. "How can I—" Make it up, when he doesn't even know what he's done? </p>
<p>Hinoka points firmly to the door. Happy whines, shifting on the table and curving toward Xander like he might mean to go with him.</p>
<p>Xander certainly shouldn't allow that. His limbs are leaden; but, stricken, he pushes himself to go. He isn't sure he could speak now, anyway. Hinoka has promised, at least. They will work this out – later. </p>
<p><em>Later</em> sits heavy and interminable in his stomach.</p>
<p>The last Xander sees of that room is Hinoka flinging her arms around Happy to prevent the wolf chasing after Xander. He sees himself out on numb feet, barely aware he's walking.</p>
<p>Happy is in good hands. Xander tells himself he had meant to spend some time not talking to or thinking of Ryoma, in any case.</p>
<p>He spends a long time in the parking lot, forehead resting on the steering wheel, turning the last few words with each Morimoto over in his head. The photo, he comes back to, and – they have both had a sister named Corrin. By the way Hinoka spoke, theirs perhaps died, fifteen years ago.</p>
<p>He can see how a sister named Corrin might be a tender subject, but to react so makes no sense. His sister isn't theirs.</p>
<p>Unless—</p>
<p>Unless— they adopted Corrin fifteen years ago.</p>
<p>Something horrifying almost slots together in Xander's head before he shakes it off. No— a coincidence. Their Corrin was saved from wild wolves in the woods. If someone had been looking for her, surely in this same city a connection would have been made long, long ago. This family would have looked for their sister, Xander is sure; and they would not be so negligent as to let a child run off into the woods alone.</p>
<p>But he knows more of wolves than he did. Of all the people on the street, the only one Happy <em>didn't</em> warn off was the child. Did Corrin truly require saving…?</p>
<p>Surely they would have looked for her, if they’re her family. Surely Father made some effort to reconnect the toddler with her parents; he always said he had. Surely there’s no way the two searches would have missed each other, in the same city. Surely there would be no good reason for a well loved child to be in the woods with wolves at night.</p>
<p>Hinoka had no compunctions about holding Happy to her, comfortable picking up his paws and poking at him as though she never had a thought in the world he might hurt her.</p>
<p>Surely...</p>
<p>Xander needs to get home. This is impossible. </p>
<p>He can still feel the problem turning like a puzzle in the back of his mind, trying to find the way all these disparate facts fit together. The longer he thinks on it, the worse it gets, till it seems like if he finds the true shape of it, surely it will swallow him whole. There's something with teeth there, and Xander...</p>
<p>Xander is afraid. </p>
<p>He has to go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oops.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. please reboot wolf and try again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma whines, and he keeps whining, even after the door has shut and the scent of cedar and warm earth and home has diminished. Hinoka's arms around his chest loosen, and he turns around on the metal table, skittering, nearly sliding. This is ridiculous. </p><p>Hinoka looks as stricken as he feels. "That was," she says, dazed. "Was that? I'm not— imagining it?" </p><p>He can't begin to muster the level of will and want to go twolegged and speech-capable right now. Instead Ryoma whines some more, pushes his nose into her face. </p><p>"She looks just like Mother," Hinoka says, and she sits down hard on the floor. Slowly, as though it's coming from a very long way away, she starts to cry.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't think Hinoka's cried for years. At least a decade. He scrabbles off the table, lands ungracefully. As soon as he has his paws under him, he goes to shove his nose in Hinoka's face. If he was human at the moment, he might give her the privacy, and probably should – but as things are, those thoughts are a little buried. </p><p>"Get off of my knee, Ryoma." Hinoka shoves at him, voice thick, and swipes a forearm over her face. </p><p>Ryoma compromises by sitting down heavily beside her, leaning against her shoulder. Tentatively he turns his head to sniff at her face, lick her cheek once or twice. </p><p>"How are we going to tell Mother." Hinoka lets out a long, drawn-out whine to match Ryoma's, something that says she's just as close to abandoning her current shape. "You're sure? It can't just be— a chance resemblance?"</p><p>If Ryoma had words, he would remind her of the match in timeline, of the fine silver-cloud of hair Corrin had as a toddler which doesn't appear to have darkened with age, of the name that remains the same. The resemblance could be chance, but with everything else? Ryoma can't believe it. He'll have to talk to Xander—</p><p>That makes him whine all over again, recalling Xander's stricken look. It isn't his fault, but as the accidental carrier of the message he's paying a price regardless. Ryoma thinks desperately of a day where he can thank Xander for this, where everything is well and good and the pack is full as it should be.</p><p>It's a long way off. </p><p>Hinoka flings her arms around him again, pressing her damp face into his shoulder. It doesn't last long before she lapses into wolf shape, wriggling out of her clothes. There's a cursory shake to put her fur how she likes it, and then she flops down on the floor next to Ryoma and howls. Ryoma concurs. The pack who should be here is not here. There are a whole myriad of complicated solutions which will take a very long time, but— they are not here. He tilts his head and joins his voice to Hinoka's, calling, calling. Corrin. Corrin, and Xander. </p><p>Footsteps in the hall, and then there's Setsuna cracking the door open, looking bemused at the pair of them. "Everything okay in here?"</p><p>Everything is not okay in here. Ryoma shakes his head from side to side, then gets up and brushes past her, heading out, where he can smell the good scents, the outside and the last traces of one of those he's missing. "Well, all right," Setsuna says, only mild concern in her voice, and she gives him enough room to get by. "Boss?"</p><p>Ryoma doesn't wait to see what Hinoka's going to do. He makes his way out to the main room, bounces off the front door a few times until he remembers that he has to pull on the door handle, not push it. But then he's out, and it's a clear shot to the woods, and he takes off, the wind in his nose and the rich earth under his paws.</p><p>Before all that long Hinoka's with him, matching his pace. She shoulders into him once or twice, not enough for either of them to fall, only enough to make it clear that she's here and also annoyed that he took off before she did. Really, Ryoma feels that if she was going to be offended about that, she should have moved faster in turn, and so he does not take the shouldering precisely with good grace, bares fang delicately at her instead. </p><p>Hinoka falls back in pace just enough to get a mouthful of his tail and tug. </p><p>Obviously Ryoma can't let this stand. He spins on her, snaps his jaws just clear of her ear. Unimpressed Hinoka bounces to the side, rears up and plants her front paws on his back. He doesn't know who she's trying to kid, she doesn't near have the leg length to stand over him.</p><p>She's about to try anyway, though. Ryoma turns his head, curves around to look at her, rumbling gently under his breath. </p><p>Hinoka looks back, displaying how many and lovely her teeth are. Then, quite promptly, she sneezes on him. </p><p>This devolves rapidly into wrestling, and it's so, so easy to simply let the wolf instincts out to play unfettered. Each of them takes their turn rolling in the leaves and earth, paws flailing wildly. No leg is left un-chewed. Graciously Ryoma lets Hinoka perch on top of him a few times, until her elbows grow too sharp to be borne in his ribs, at which point he turns their tables yet again. The fight of it all absorbs his attention, so much that he doesn't immediately remember <em>why</em> they charged out; it's too much work to draw human instincts about him again now. </p><p>The sun is notably lower in the sky, the light going amber by the time they both fall over in the lee of an old fallen tree. Ryoma takes the extra effort to put his tongue back in his mouth, and in the happy tiredness something else sets in again: where is the rest of the pack?</p><p>Beside him Hinoka is having the same recollection, by the way she tilts her head up to howl again, and here they spend another little while calling, only calling out for what is missing.</p><p>No one arrives to fill the empty spaces beside them. </p><p>Slowly, Ryoma approaches the idea that he must be the one to tell Mother. </p><p>Is it fair to tell her when they are only half certain? It might not be Corrin— no. There are too many coincidences. One of those things, Ryoma could believe. All of them, timing and looks and name? No. He cannot get out of telling Mother, and, what's more: he cannot get out of telling Xander, either. </p><p>He wonders if Father would have known what to do.</p><p>As the sun sets, Ryoma hauls himself wearily up to his four sturdy feet, and points himself toward home. This time he waits to make sure Hinoka is with him, and they set a steady pace through the forest in easy companionship. </p><p>Sunset cedes to blue dusk. They are so fortunate as to get into the house unobserved – Hinoka pulls the door for Ryoma, and they slip in trailing dirt and old leaves. Ryoma makes a note to come back with a broom later, forgotten almost as soon as he makes his way to his room. There's ample enough stores of easy clothing, yukata or pajamas or even a blanket if he's desperate, but for a long moment he just stares at fabric, trying to make the effort to shift back seem worth it.</p><p>There cannot be coffee and talks of the future if he does not put on humanity again. Chocolate is right out. Hugs in human form bring a different closeness than they do as a wolf. There is an easy, simple allure to staying this way for a while, but: it will not take his problems away, and what Ryoma wants right now is... complicated. </p><p>He stretches up, and up, and up, and with a rueful twist of his mouth picks some errant twigs out of his hair. His shoulders are sore, and there's an errant ache juddering up his spine from where Hinoka pulled his tail a few times, but he is himself.</p><p>Detangling later. Ryoma thinks about binding his hair up – reaches – opts not to, as his shoulders remind him exactly how much running and wrestling he and Hinoka did. He eases into soft pants, lazily belts one of the old yukata over. That's about as presentable as he's getting.</p><p><em>Corrin</em> drums distantly in his head. </p><p>On the way to find Hinoka, she meets him instead, eyes bright but dry. She's taken about as much interest in dressing as he has – it's not like they stand on formality around the house very often, not with so many wolves and so much shifting between forms. "Takumi says Mother's in the library," she says, rocking up onto her toes and back to the solid ground again. "I don't know... how are we supposed to..."</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head, for a moment equally stuck without an answer. </p><p>"I guess you can't get that picture from him." Hinoka isn't really asking, with how flat her tone is. </p><p>Mention of Xander, even obliquely, strikes Ryoma like a lingering ache. He can't begin to approach dealing with all of these things at once. "...I think my phone is still at the rehab center," he says, vaguely regretful. He'll have to get it later. Mother is more important right now. Pack comes first, as he's been reminded any number of times since the scent-bond. Xander isn't pack. Yet. "It will do. I know what I saw."</p><p>"...yeah," Hinoka agrees, quietly. They stand there united in purpose, in the strange place between reluctance and joy, for several moments until Ryoma starts moving.</p><p>Mother is in the library, like Hinoka said. She's taken up an armchair under a lamp, and there's a book in her lap. When Mother hears them and looks up, half-closing the book, Ryoma recognizes it as a copy of the Prose Edda. "I see you two have been running," she says, with some soft fondness. She marks her place with a finger, reaches up and beckons to Ryoma.</p><p>He comes into range, ducks his head. Delicately Mother tugs some few pieces of debris from his hair before patting his shoulder. "Better. Did you need something, Ryoma?" </p><p>Hinoka half-perches on the arm of Mother's chair. Ryoma steps back a pace now that Mother's done with his hair, unsure what to do with himself but stand there. </p><p>It's probably for the best Mother is already sitting down.</p><p>He hesitates over how to begin for long enough that Mother starts to look slightly concerned. Ryoma launches himself into words before she can say something else— if she begins he's not sure he himself will be able to. "I— we learned something today," he says, haltingly, painfully. "Something difficult. I don't have any proof, per se, but— I'm sure enough."</p><p>His slowness, his fumbling, have Mother leaning forward, brows knit. "Ryoma...? What is this about?"</p><p>Ryoma swallows hard. "It's Corrin," he says. "I think— we found her." </p><p>Silence beats heavy at his ears. Mother's face is still, frozen porcelain-perfect and rigid. The tell is in her hands, as it ever is, tense on the book. </p><p>"I was out with Xander," he says, eyes down, watching how Mother's fingers go white-knuckled on pages. "We spoke of— any number of things. There was a picture on his phone— a family portrait. I had him tell me of his siblings. One brother, three sisters." The story is coming out disjointed, he knows, a spill of facts arranged near each other, but it's the best he can do. "The middle sister is adopted. Fifteen years ago. Her name is Corrin—"</p><p>There's a terrible choked sound from Mother. One hand goes to her mouth. Automatically Hinoka leans toward her, setting an arm around her shoulders. </p><p>"She looks like you," Ryoma says, all in a rush. "Silver hair, but— she could <em>be</em> you. The timing, the name, the resemblance— as I said. I don't have any proof. But— I don't see how it couldn't be her."</p><p>Mother turns her face into Hinoka's shoulder. Ryoma can see her shaking faintly, can hear the way her breath catches and steadies one slow inhalation at a time. He waits. There's not much else he can do. Eventually Mother lifts her head, focuses on Ryoma again, and her eyes are damp but clear. "Does he know?" </p><p>"Xander?" Ryoma shakes his head immediately. "No. There's no way."</p><p>"He's completely clueless," Hinoka mutters. "Sweet, but clueless."</p><p>Ryoma had never looked to hear something of the sort from Hinoka. Mother turns an inquisitive look on her as well, and Hinoka shrugs aggressively. "He was all worried he'd offended you when you ran off, remember. And he didn't even know we <em>had</em> a sister Corrin, since you didn't mention. All of that was genuine. If I didn't believe you about how oblivious he was earlier, I would now. You were right there and he thought you were just a wolf." </p><p>"...I see I'm going to want to hear more about your date," Mother murmurs absently. She lifts the hand that isn't marking her page, presses fingers to her temple with a faint wince.</p><p>"It wasn't a date," Ryoma protests.</p><p>"Sure sounds like one," Hinoka rallies. Louder than usual, more forceful, as though to compensate for the shakiness they're all feeling. </p><p>"I've been lying to him," Ryoma says bluntly, which rather shatters Hinoka's attempt at cheer. She looks away, and Ryoma immediately feels the bitterness in his gut. "...If we have any chance to build anything— he needs to know. And if we are to hope to meet Corrin again, let alone bring her back to us— then he needs to know the truth."</p><p>"Are you sure?" Hinoka now sounds to be objecting for the sake of objecting. "You can explain about Corrin without wolves, can't you?" This doesn't solve the problem of a relationship between them, and Ryoma is about to say something on that topic when he's cut off.</p><p>"Enough," Mother says. She stands, setting her book in the chair. Hinoka thumps gently to the ground, recovering her footing easily. Mother comes toward Ryoma, takes his hands in hers. She has to tilt her chin up to look him square in the eyes, at this distance, but she doesn't feel any smaller for it. "Ryoma. You truly would trust him that far? Do you believe he would help?"</p><p>Ryoma takes his time thinking about it. The instincts still buried in sun-warmed earth immediately leap to yes, of course, what else would he do? But just as there is a time to trust instinct, there is also a time to remember why his father died, and the consequences of misplaced trust, not only for Ryoma, but for the pack as a whole. If he is wrong...</p><p>He doesn't think he is. He has watched Xander when he believes himself unobserved, any number of times. Ryoma would bet his own life on this. </p><p>What of the pack? </p><p>He is coming to an answer, drawing himself out of thought and to a sensible arrangement of words, when Mother flinches and goes still. Something in the air hums, bends like a plucked string. Ryoma feels <em>seen</em>, in a way uncomfortable right down to the bones: the lurking certainty that someone has eyes on him. The back of his neck prickles. </p><p>Mother pales, and keeps paling as she looks up to the ceiling. She looks unlike herself, beyond even the fixed stillness of shock and emotion. Here Mother is a creature of snow and ebony, something too lovely to be real. The air around her bends and wavers like a heat-haze.</p><p>"No," Mother says, firm and clear, and drops Ryoma's hands to reach up as though bracing something. "You were <em>not invited</em>—"</p><p>The hum of the plucked bow-string is back, resonant and pervading. Ryoma covers his ears to shut it out, finds his movements slow, as if he's fighting against gravity itself. He sees Hinoka wincing, reaching for Mother, struggling to close the distance between them; he sees Mother trembling and furious, shove <em>something</em> away from her—</p><p>Everything clears. Ryoma can move again.</p><p>Mother collapses.</p><p>Hinoka is there immediately, having already been mid-motion, and she manages at least to go down with Mother if not to catch her. Ryoma lunges to her side, drops to his knees. "What <em>was</em> that?" he demands, catching Mother's hand, feeling for a pulse at her wrist, then at her throat. Fast – too fast, but it isn't as though he knows what's normal for the lords and ladies. She's chilly to the touch.</p><p>Gently Hinoka pulls Mother off the floor, cradles her against her chest. "How am I supposed to know?" she returns, the crack in her voice tangible sign of the same fear beating at the inside of Ryoma's ribs. "Sounded like that humming from the other night, just bigger and worse. And what the hell was that, that pressure?"</p><p>Ryoma stalls with his hand on Mother's forehead, unsure what to do next. She's never been ill a day in her life with them, only ever tired and grieved. With Mother – out for the count – Ryoma has charge of the pack in full. </p><p>And he doesn't know how to help her.</p><p>Footsteps in the hall, louder and faster. Takumi gets around the corner first, mostly because he's on four legs. Behind him is Sakura, slower on two feet and eyes wide with alarm; and behind her, at a slightly more sedate pace, Orochi in a rush of purple silk and scales. </p><p>"Ah, I <em>thought</em> that was the wards." Orochi sounds as unconcerned as she ever does, the only lie in the tightness around her eyes. She kneels carefully beside Hinoka, checks Mother's pulse, her breath. "Sakura, come here, will you?" </p><p>Sakura's shaky, but she does. Takumi creeps closer on his belly, a whine in the back of his throat and his ears laid back. </p><p>"You can stay if you keep your nose to yourself," Orochi says absently. "All right, physically she's fine, just exhausted. No need to panic. Ryoma, you and Hinoka were here? What happened?"</p><p>Ryoma relays it, lingering over the feeling of heaviness, the plucked string. How Mother had declared that someone was not invited. </p><p>"Mmm," Orochi says, understanding. "Invitations are powerful things, you know. Were there any other sensations?" Her tongue flicks out, as if to taste the air. "A scent, a change in the light."</p><p>As ever, Ryoma finds he is completely unsure if Orochi <em>does</em> have some kind of snake blood, or if she simply delights in confusing. </p><p>"Is this really the most important thing right now?" Hinoka wants to know. "Mother's—"</p><p>"We need to know what force this was, and where it came from," Orochi interrupts coolly. "Right now, there isn't much we can do for your mother that she can't do for herself, except move her to her bedroom to rest. To help her best, we make sure this doesn't happen again."</p><p>Hinoka steadies. Looks at Ryoma. "I don't remember anything else."</p><p>Ryoma thinks about it; but best of all he remembers Mother's face, the terrible sudden limpness as she fell. Other sensory input is rather lost. "I have nothing," he admits quietly. </p><p>"Hmmm." Orochi draws the syllable out, sits back on her heels. Her gaze rests on Ryoma in a way he doesn't immediately know what to do with. "Well, then. What shall we do about that?"</p><p>Why is she asking him? Ryoma feels scattered, and the twistings of fear and worry don't know where to settle, from Mother to Corrin to Xander to the wards to the pack. For several moments he just stares at Orochi, and he can barely breathe. </p><p>Orochi raises her eyebrows. At the corners of her eyes, something iridescent glints, eye-catching, probably nothing more than a distraction. She reaches into her sleeve, where Ryoma knows she keeps a deck of cards; but she doesn't produce anything. She waits. </p><p>She's waiting for him. </p><p>Ryoma takes a long, deep breath. There’s nothing to do but step up. "How sure are you that all she needs is rest?" </p><p>"Sure," Orochi says firmly, and she volunteers nothing else.</p><p>Helpful. But— it is helpful, truly, past the first rush of a desire to bite. Ryoma steadies himself. "I'll take Mother to her room," he says. "Takumi, come with me." He won't settle unless he has eyes on Mother, Ryoma thinks, so near is better. "Orochi— can your divination perhaps gather any more here?" </p><p>Orochi pulls the deck from her sleeve, fans cards between her fingers. "I will see what I may gather," she says primly. "May I keep Hinoka?"</p><p>"But—!" Hinoka starts.</p><p>"You and I were closest," Ryoma reminds her. "I'll look after Mother. All right?"</p><p>Hinoka considers this offer. As Ryoma reaches out to take Mother from her, she visibly deliberates, and finally cedes. </p><p>Ryoma had never thought Mother could be this <em>light</em>. Takumi rouses himself, turns a circle and then presses close to Ryoma's leg. "Sakura? What do you want?"</p><p>She doesn't look like she was expecting to be asked. "Um," Sakura manages, biting her lip. "I— I'll go with you." </p><p>"All right." Ryoma stands carefully, cradling Mother so her head rests against his shoulder. She's just Mother, breathing easily, nothing unearthly about her now. "Hinoka, when you and Orochi have figured out anything else you can, join us upstairs, all right?"</p><p>"Sure," Hinoka says, nods jerkily. "All right."</p><p>"Thank you," Ryoma says gravely, and thus they split. He hears Orochi quizzing Hinoka behind him, hears the slide of cards against each other as Orochi seeks answers. </p><p>Upstairs, Ryoma settles Mother into bed. It seems too big for her, this old carved oak, the one she and Father shared. Takumi hops up beside her when Ryoma has pulled the blankets up, tucks himself against her with his chin on her knee. Behind Ryoma, there's the sound of cloth slipping and shape changing, and Sakura's smaller, reddish form pads past Ryoma to join him. </p><p>Mother could hardly be safer, Ryoma thinks, and he goes to see to the rest of the pack, as much as he wants to stay.</p><p>Mostly it's a long series of assurances that everything will be fine. The more he says it, the more he believes it, and the more the other wolves believe him in turn. Doing the circuit of the big pack house also serves to assure Ryoma that everyone else is all right, too. He finds the humans are less concerned than the wolves, in general. Yukimura has the gracious calm of someone too used to things going wrong, but he is generally an exception. Some few members of the pack are out; Ryoma opts not to worry them. Either Mother will be roused by the time they are back, or explanations can be made then.</p><p>He doesn't sleep. Eventually he returns to sit by Mother's side. There are three sibling-wolves on the bed now, not two, and Ryoma thinks vaguely about joining them, but— he has thinking that needs to be done. He has already run from difficult emotions once today, and to be wolf should be to exult in motion and scent and earth, not to hide from the human. </p><p>Orochi joins him as morning sunlight starts to slant through the high windows. Ryoma stands, draws her quietly back toward the doorway. "Can you tell me anything about what happened?" he asks.</p><p>She purses her lips, tugs at an errant strand of her hair. "Someone else's magic. Not wolf, not – my lady." She tilts her head toward the bed, so her careful talking-around can have no mistaking. "The sound, we think, was Mikoto's wards reacting to the intrusion. Hinoka says she thinks she scented maybe ivy – something growing, at any rate. A creeping vine. The cards aren't particularly helpful. Books, or maybe stories, and forests, or maybe a swamp..."</p><p>Ryoma takes her point. "Stories?" he echoes. "I know for Mother, those have some power..."</p><p>Helpless, Orochi shakes her head. "I can't be sure," she says. "Ah— one other thing, though. The magic that lingered— I don't believe it was outright hostile."</p><p>Anger races through Ryoma, hot and sudden, and he lets it exist within him, refuses to act on it immediately. "Mother is unconscious, and could have been worse," he says finally, slow and taut. "And it wasn't hostile?"</p><p>"She is only unconscious," Orochi points out. "I went over her guarding spells— what I can grasp of them, anyway. They are intact, only stretched. Like trying on something too small for you. And the library is clean. This was an intrusion, certainly. But I think only that."</p><p><em>Only</em> an intrusion. As if such a thing could be simple or just. Ryoma breathes this in and out, and lets his hands form the fists they want to, and does not act on anything else. "Perhaps Mother will know more," he says. "When she wakes."</p><p>"When she wakes," Orochi murmurs, and withdraws. </p><p>Ryoma doesn't mean to sleep, but eventually he doesn't have much choice, passes out in the chair beside the bed since his siblings have managed to sprawl to take up all the room Mother isn't. He wakes intermittently, absently checking each time – three wolves, one wolf, two wolves. Always Mother. </p><p>It's late that night that Mother first rouses, brief and tired. There is some color back in her complexion, and she stays awake only long enough to sink her fingers into Takumi's ruff and pat Ryoma's cheek, and then she is out again. Pack comes and goes, quiet and watchful. Ryoma wakes properly in the terrible hours of the morning, a pang like homesickness fishhooked into his ribs. It is more or less sated with a midnight snack and a return to Mother's bedside, but not quite. He reads by flashlight, since his phone is still somewhere down at the other end of the woods, and the book falls from his fingers again eventually.</p><p>By the middle of the next day Mother is sitting up, and she shoos a hovering Takumi away gently with instructions to make her food. This, Ryoma is well aware, is to keep him busy, and sure enough Mother turns a meaningful look on Ryoma next, pats the bed beside her. </p><p>He goes to sit beside her, and Mother draws him toward her, arm gently around his shoulders. "I'm well enough," she says, guessing correctly at his mind. "And I remember what we spoke of."</p><p>Corrin. </p><p>The time intervening hasn't done much to ease Ryoma's mind – only to make him surer that something must be done, and that something is probably speaking to Xander of wolves and sisters and the murder of their father. </p><p>He cannot imagine the Xander he has come to know instituting a hunt of his own volition. </p><p>"You asked me if I trust him," Ryoma says distantly. "I do. It isn't only the scent-bond talking— I keep my head better around him, now. I like him. I could love him, someday. And so I am going to tell him the truth, and ask for his help."</p><p>Mother turns her head to kiss his temple, light and affectionate. "I trust your judgment," she says simply. "I will not be able to judge accurately, here. If Corrin may yet return to us... I can't think what I wouldn't do. It's better, Ryoma, that you make this choice."</p><p>It is a long way from the initial interrogation regarding Xander's intentions. For the moment Ryoma only settles into her embrace, relieved beyond words, with this first of a many weights lifted. Xander, and the truth, can wait one more day. </p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. wolf surprise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: mentions/reminiscences of murder, child abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The terrible dread weight in Xander's stomach doesn't go away, as the days pass without hearing from Ryoma. Each new day with no word puts more worry for his fate into Xander. He had been upset, perhaps even ill, and though his sister had implied she would speak to him...</p><p>The things Xander has not quite put together weigh on him just as much. When Xander is not wondering what has become of Ryoma, he is turning that odd assortment of facts about sisters and wolves over and over, wearing the edges of the problem down like a stone in the river. Nothing ever quite connects – the only things that <em>might</em> are conclusions his mind shies from. </p><p>He checks his phone. He sends texts that are as respectfully concerned as he knows how, no more than one per day – promises he will take his leave if told to, only he would appreciate if Ryoma would confirm he is well. He sleepwalks through a few days, such that Camilla tuts and has to sit him down to make him eat. </p><p>It's almost a week before he has an answer, but when it comes the simple words lift a heavy weight from his shoulders. Ryoma confirms that he's fine, that he doesn't blame anything on Xander. <em>I am sorry for the delayed response</em>, he goes on, and Xander can almost hear his warm voice. <em>There was a sudden illness in my family, and I could not think of much else. I would like the chance to speak to you, if you can spare the time</em>.</p><p>He texts without abbreviations, with capitals and punctuation, sharp contrast to Xander's siblings. It's terribly endearing.</p><p><em>For you I can</em>, he texts, and realizes belatedly it is perhaps too forward. </p><p>But Ryoma doesn't respond poorly, only thanks him and proposes times. They settle on the next day – Xander finds he feels warm and light all over – and Ryoma follows to ask, <em>Can we meet at the ranch?</em></p><p>It's an odd request. Xander is pretty sure Ryoma hasn't been there, but then again he did mention it by name. Perhaps he knows where it is from his mother's era. Xander doesn't object to the meeting place, he finds, despite his habitual paranoia about it – he trusts Ryoma. And Ryoma could not be farther from Father. Xander can't imagine their paths will ever cross.</p><p>He accepts. </p><p>The next day Xander makes his way to the ranch as soon as he feels it safe to, as soon as all his other obligations are taken care of. Camilla gives him a look that is a little concerned,  but she doesn't comment on it, doesn't try to stop him. </p><p>Sunset comes earlier and earlier, this time of year. The sun is already setting by the time Xander gets there. He makes a habitual check of his phone – Ryoma has said he is on his way, but nothing else. Only to wait, then. Xander thinks about settling in the office, in his room, but he finds there's too much nervous energy in his limbs for that. </p><p>He moves out instead, paces the fenceline in the dusk, watches Laslow bringing horses in for the night. It's because of this restlessness that Xander sees the wolf coming.</p><p>Wolf-dog, he corrects himself, but it is harder and harder to think of Happy that way. He trots out of the trees with tail held high and gait light, as though he has every right to be there, and Xander can't in the moment bring himself to say he doesn't. At least, for once, he can guarantee he'll be able to get hold of Ryoma when the wolf is here.</p><p>Despite all previous indications that the wolf likes him, there’s still some lingering surprise when Happy comes right to him. Now that Xander can see him closer, it looks like there’s something on his back — like a sack, possibly made of folded cloth, and secured by ropes across his shoulders and around his chest. It’s something intentional, something that doesn’t make Xander think the wolf tangled himself up in it by accident. </p><p>Something done by humans.</p><p>“What <em>is</em> that,” Xander murmurs, and first of all he tugs his phone out and calls Ryoma. He has a speed dial assigned to him by now.</p><p>Improbably, the sack strapped to the wolf’s back starts to chime. </p><p>Ryoma doesn’t answer.</p><p>Well, he might still be driving, Xander assumes — but that does not solve how calling Ryoma has made something on Happy ring. “Let me see that,” Xander says softly, steps toward Happy with arm outstretched. </p><p>Happy dances away, jaws parted. It looks like a wolfish smile, not anything hostile — a flash of white teeth, pink tongue, and the joy of being chased, though Xander isn’t certain where he’s assuming that last part from. At least, Xander supposes, he doesn’t seem too inconvenienced by the contraption of rope and cloth strapped to him. </p><p>The wolf circles back to him, dances away again when Xander tries to reach. In this way Xander finds he’s led to follow, and follow he does, toward the office, toward his room here. Happy paws at the door when he reaches it. “I certainly hope Ryoma can explain this,” Xander mutters, mostly to himself. He opens the door for the wolf, who prances in cheerfully as if he owns the place and goes to thump his forepaws at Xander’s door instead. “What do you think you’re doing?”</p><p>Maybe, if he lets Happy into his room, he can get a hand on that sack and see why it seems to have Ryoma’s phone in it. Xander reaches over the wolf’s head to open the door.</p><p>Again, Happy moves in without a care in the world, sniffing at this and that. At least he’s slightly more sedate than he was earlier. Xander hesitates between leaving the door open to offer him an escape route, and closing it so the wolf can’t dodge his reach. Eventually, as Happy turns a circle in the middle of the floor, Xander settles on closing the door.</p><p>As it clicks shut, Happy stops circling, comes to attention with ears pricked, focused on Xander. Just in case, Xander tries calling Ryoma again.</p><p>Again, the sack on the wolf’s back chimes. Happy points his ears back at it instead of Xander.</p><p>Xander would swear he looks sheepish.</p><p>“Now why do you have Ryoma’s phone,” Xander says, slowly and softly. There’s something prickling at the edges of his thoughts, not quite put together, something he can’t quite make fit. </p><p>The wolf curves his head around toward his side, tugs at a trailing end of rope. With a little bit of work on his part, the whole thing comes apart, rope slithering to the floor and the bundle sliding slowly down his side after. Happy leans down to paw this apart delicately, revealing — a phone, as Xander thought; a little book, no bigger than his hand; and cloth. All the cloth seems to be of one piece, something cleverly constructed to turn something like a robe for a human into a traveling pack.</p><p>Happy proceeds to tug the robe apart from the rest with precise little nips. It looks frustrating, for someone without hands. </p><p>Why would a wolf need to carry clothing and a phone with him? </p><p>Why isn’t Ryoma answering, why is his phone <em>here</em> — and it's surely his, Xander can see the missed calls lighting up the screen — when the hour they’d meant to meet is now? </p><p>And in the woods, fifteen years ago, that hunt Xander had accompanied his father on and now hates to remember— there had been a wolf. Only a wolf.</p><p>Happy lifts the robe up by its collar in his teeth, holding it before him. For a moment Xander would swear he’s holding it as though he means to put it on. Then that thought simply disappears, as Happy— changes.</p><p>It’s the work of a few seconds, maybe, as the wolf’s form wavers and shifts, like a graceful relay: one thing handing off to the next. Fur gives way to skin, a long nose recedes to something recognizably human. </p><p>Xander has space for the inane thought that he had been right, when he thought Happy’s fur was just the color of Ryoma’s hair. </p><p>Ryoma is on one knee, the robe held up before him — though he has in the intervening time taken it in his hands, instead of his mouth. As Xander watches he straightens, and there is a long tempting glimpse of skin and shadow before Ryoma has the robe over his shoulders, secures it at his waist. It's an easy motion, a practiced motion; the motion of a man who has had to put a robe on in a hurry any number of times.</p><p>Xander's head hurts. This isn't possible. There had been a wolf there a moment ago. "Ryoma," he says, numbly, and he would take a step back, only his feet don't seem to be listening to him.</p><p>"Yes." Ryoma watches him, doesn't move any closer. There's a little frown of concern on his face, where there should be a warm smile. </p><p>"You're— you were—" <em>Happy</em>, Xander means to say, and it dies on his tongue before he can speak. </p><p>"Yes," Ryoma says again, careful. "I am. Are you all right?"</p><p>Xander gets his legs working, and moves toward his bed, almost falling rather than sitting on the edge. He braces himself, settles there, and looks at Ryoma again. He hasn't moved. "I don't know," Xander says, quite honestly. He can feel something twisting in his mind as he tries to find explanations for this and fails. Ryoma is the wolf is Ryoma. There's no way around it. "Can you show me again?"</p><p>Ryoma tilts his head to the side, echoing the wolf's inquisitive gesture. "You really didn't know," he says softly, and he leans forward, so far that he almost seems he'll fall; but before he can fur surges up and angles shift, and he's a wolf again, dropping easily to all four paws.</p><p>A wolf wearing a robe. Xander covers his mouth, chokes back incredulous laughter, too close to hysteria for comfort. It's utterly ridiculous. </p><p>The wolf paces closer, rests his chin on the bed perhaps six inches away and looks up at Xander with hopeful dark eyes. Xander almost reaches toward him, stops himself with recollection. Ryoma... may not appreciate being pet. Would he? He has acted before as though he does, but now—</p><p>The shift reverses. Instead of a wolf there is a man, kneeling and looking up at him. Xander's breath leaves him completely for a few moments.</p><p>Ryoma only seems to realize belatedly, and he looks off to the side and gets to his feet, circling back to pick up his things from the floor. The little book, and his phone, and rope which he coils over one arm. He doesn't speak immediately, which Xander appreciates as a time to gather his thoughts. </p><p>No wonder Ryoma had been so unconcerned about the wolf's presence, if it was only him. But how is it possible? This is where Xander's mind circles, for a little while, stuck on the how of it all. </p><p>He cannot question that Ryoma and the wolf are one and the same. That has been made inescapably obvious.</p><p>Ryoma draws his desk chair over, sits in it with a care for how cloth falls and legs are arrayed. His eyes on Xander are dark and watchful. "Please forgive me the deception," he says gravely. "I was not sure if you were aware of things beyond the mundane, and my duty is first to protect my family, my pack— but all the same I allowed you to believe I was nothing more than a wolf, and for the trespass I am sorry."</p><p>Xander still takes some moments to find his voice, and it is not yet entirely steady when he does. "I do not think I would have believed it, if I had not seen you like this," he says. "May I ask-- what are you, exactly?"</p><p>"I might ask the same of you." There's a quick flash of humor in his expression. "Werewolf, is the easiest way to say it. We exist between wolf and human, balancing the instinctive and the intentional. We are neither, and both. By leaning on the balance I change my form as I will. I am always myself, although sometimes more driven by immediate desires than the long-term view." There is that sheepishness Xander saw earlier on the wolf. </p><p>Perhaps petting is one of those desires. Xander moves right on past that thought for the moment. "Does the moon drive you?" he wants to know. "There are stories..."</p><p>"To an extent." Ryoma hitches a quick shrug. "Full moon is a night for wolves, so we are wolves on the full moon. More so than any other night. Around that time, it's easier to stop thinking consciously, and more simply be. But as for stories— well, they vary, and so do we; different packs work differently."</p><p>Xander remembers— when he first met the wolf, it had been full, or close to it, hadn't it? More than bright enough to see by. "Is that why you attacked me, at first?" he wants to know. There's no heat in it – it feels forever ago now, and wolf and man have both proven not to be aggressive since. </p><p>Ryoma ducks his head a moment, looking aside, and Xander thinks he sees a hint of color in his cheeks. "I thought you were a hunter," he says, a little stiffly. "I— was afraid. I am sorry— was your horse all right?"</p><p>"She's fine." The hint of a blush might be endearing, but Ryoma's straightforward admission of fear sets something twisting in Xander again. He can't look at it yet. "What did you mean, you might ask the same of me?"</p><p>The subject change gets Ryoma to look straight at him again, though now with open puzzlement. Ryoma lifts a hand, brushes his hair back on one side to trace the curve of his ear. "I've never seen someone who was purely human glow," he says. "Would you mind? Is it safe here, for you to take it off?"</p><p>Puzzled, Xander mirrors the gesture, and his fingers find warm metal. He'd forgotten he was wearing the earring from Camilla, as he often does. There's some instinctive reluctance – usually he only takes it off when he's readying for bed – but whatever it may reveal, Ryoma has already taken the first step with secrets. Slowly, carefully, Xander unhooks it from his ear.</p><p>The room is better lit now.</p><p>Ryoma leans forward, and in his face is a naked sort of wonder, almost approaching a longing. He's limned with gold, like an afternoon sun stretches out rich and warm to outline his shape. "No wonder you smelled of sunlight," he says, in a tone to suit his expression. </p><p>"Sunlight has a scent?" Xander looks down at his hands. He is unsurprised to find a radiance there, even though he should be. This is normal – except for how it isn't. This is simply how he is – but humans aren't like this. </p><p>Xander isn't human, and coming to this conclusion is making his head pound. </p><p>"It does to me," Ryoma says. "Not quite sunlight, I suppose— but the scent of rich earth that has been in the sunlight for a full summer's day. That is the best I can describe it."</p><p>It's terribly flattering. Xander would be blushing, he's sure, if he wasn't busy having a miniature existential crisis. </p><p>"I'm not sure what I am," he says. It's distant, such that it almost feels like someone else saying it. "I hadn't precisely realized, until now, that I was anything at all."</p><p>"How could you not?" Ryoma wonders aloud.</p><p>"I don't know," Xander says, which he knows isn't an answer, but is still the only answer he has. "It feels as if— I just didn't think about it." He opens his hand, flexes his fingers, closes them into a loose fist. Finally, finally he looks up again. "I don't know," he says once more, wishing he had something else to say. </p><p>Ryoma is quiet another few moments, finally shakes his head. "I suppose it doesn't immediately matter," he says. "Are you sure you're all right? You look— not entirely well." </p><p>Wolves in the forest. Xander drops his hand to his side, resting limp on the bed. Maybe it hadn't been the same woods. Perhaps he misremembers that night. "I am learning a great deal today, apparently," he says. "Why today?" </p><p>"Why today indeed." Ryoma heaves a long sigh, looks down. "It all comes back to— Corrin. Will you hear me out?"</p><p>Ryoma only bolted once he had seen the photograph. Again, Xander wonders. "Hinoka said you had a sister by that name...?" At Ryoma's wince, Xander can only assume that these connections will be drawn for him; that the shifting puzzle will be made solid. He doesn't know if he wants to see it or not, but the choice to look away is rapidly disappearing. "That is— yes, I will listen."</p><p>All the same, it takes Ryoma some further moments to start. He fidgets with the book, flips through pages. It looks, from here, like it might be a photo album. The angle's bad, but Xander can see flashes of faces and brightly colored cloth. "Fifteen years ago," Ryoma says finally, "my father was murdered, on a full moon night." He swallows – Xander can see his throat move – and rubs a hand across his face. "We run together as pack, on those nights. Children don't start to shift until adolescence, so those too young to change but old enough to hold tight often got to ride the larger of the wolves. It's meant to be a joyful night, a celebration night. That night was only my third full moon change." </p><p>He pauses there, as if to gather himself. Xander can see why he would need to, and stays quiet, simply watching. Ryoma has settled on one picture by now, isn't flipping pages any more, but Xander can't quite see the image.</p><p>"Sakura and Takumi were too young to come with us,” Ryoma goes on, eventually. "Hinoka and Corrin were out with us— Corrin was with Father. They separated from the rest of the pack to chase after something. And then there were horses and riders, where there shouldn't have been. With blades, and guns. We— couldn't catch up in time. I felt my father die. And when we did get to him Corrin was gone. There was some of her blood, but not very much, so we thought she might still be alive. But— we never found her. We looked. That night there was nothing; the next day there was nothing. Months passed. All we had to go on was the scent of the person who had touched Father's body. And that isn't enough for justice. It’s not enough for anything but knowing."</p><p>He stops there, at least for the time being. He lifts the book then, passes it over with his finger marking the page. Carefully Xander takes it, holds it between his two hands, and it's his own light that brightens it. </p><p>The picture is full of children, mostly. Hinoka's red hair is obvious even at this age, though she can't be more than five or six, if that. There's Ryoma, long-limbed and awkward with the way of early teens, and his hair not yet grown out to its current prodigious length. Two small children Xander doesn't recognize, one ash-blond and the other strawberry, held by Ryoma and Hinoka respectively— these are probably, he would guess, Takumi and Sakura. Behind them all are two adults – a broad-shouldered man with an easy smile and a mane to match Ryoma's, black but greying at the temples, and a slighter, dark-haired woman with a bland expression. The woman holds the last of the children in the photo, a toddler of perhaps three or so, with a crop of fine silver hair and a bright grin on her face. She's mid-wave at the camera, such that her hands have blurred slightly.</p><p>"The reverse, too," Ryoma says quietly. Xander turns the page as bidden.</p><p>It's more or less the same picture, but now there are two wolves in it – one big and grey, jaws parted in a wolf-smile, the other lanky, coltish, but with the same dark markings around his face already evident. The big wolf leans against the woman, clearly affectionate, while the young one is busy licking a startled silver-haired child.</p><p>She looks like the woman who holds her, Xander realizes. At least, in the way of children and adults, like a little echo where he can see how she may grow one day as a clear path laid out. </p><p>Quietly, Xander goes for his phone. He says nothing – he can't – he only finds a good picture of Corrin to compare to. There's the family portrait – he tabs back through a few years. Younger, and younger. Corrin at fourteen, putting a good face on being sent off to boarding school. Corrin at ten, beaming over homework. Corrin at eight, at five. </p><p>The youngest picture he has of Corrin is the day her adoption was formalized. Happier times, when Father was more – Father. She's older than the picture Ryoma has offered, but not by much – a year, maybe. Eighteen months at the most. </p><p>It's the same child.</p><p>Wordless, Xander offers the book back, and his phone besides. He hates a little the way Ryoma's face transforms when he sees it, twisted with grief. </p><p>Ryoma pushes the phone back at him. "As relieved as I am to know she was well, and loved," he says, voice thick, "I cannot help but resent the years we should have had. Please— not now." </p><p>Xander understands. He puts it away. </p><p>There's something about the shape of Ryoma's face that looks alien, for a moment – not human, not entirely. As if the wolf is trying to emerge. It's gone shortly after. Ryoma stretches, stands, and goes to the window, cracking it open and tilting his face up to the night air. </p><p>"You said," Xander starts, and then thinks better of it.</p><p>Ryoma glances back over his shoulder. If his eyes are suspiciously bright, Xander isn't going to say anything about it. "What is it?"</p><p>"You said there was a scent," Xander says. It comes from his mouth leaden, a weight growing in his chest. "A person who— touched your father."</p><p>Slowly, Ryoma nods. He doesn't come away from the window. "We knew the scent," he says, low, almost the same rumbling tenor of the wolf's growls. "It was someone Father had thought was a friend. But we couldn't do anything with that alone, only know it was him. He's in a position that can't be touched without notice, and we— must hold to human laws, and human ethics."</p><p>Xander wants to ask who; and he wonders, then, if having a name to put to the murderer will solve anything. Ryoma's father will be just as dead, either way, the loss just as great. He doesn't need to know. Doesn't need to think about it.</p><p>And then— he catches himself thinking that, and frowns. Certainly, he doesn't <em>need</em> to know. But he likes Ryoma. They're friends, at least, or so Xander likes to think. Ryoma has done him the respect of telling him this secret. Maybe there's nothing Xander can do, but Ryoma speaks as though his family has been over every avenue open to them. Xander could at least do some research on his part. If he finds there isn't anything he can do, then they're no worse off than when they began, and at least Xander has tried.</p><p>So Xander asks: "Whose scent?"</p><p>Ryoma turns fully, leans against the wall with his back to the window, and his face is indescribable. "Xander," he says, and hesitates, ducks his head some several moments before he lifts it again. "...As I said. Someone Father had thought of as a friend. His name was – is – Garon König."</p><p>The worst part of hearing that name is that Xander isn't surprised. It just sits, and sits, heavier and heavier inside him, a stone sinking from his throat to his gut. </p><p>On some level, he thinks he knew as soon as Ryoma implied his father had been murdered in wolf form. It is only that Xander hadn't wanted to know this, hadn't wanted to have to face this last destruction of the images of his childhood. </p><p>He hadn't been looking.</p><p>"My father," Xander says numbly.</p><p>"Yes," Ryoma agrees, low. He is the sort of still that is unnatural: no errant movements, only watching, watching. </p><p>Xander shakes his head. He hadn't finished. "When I was younger," he says, starting over and pushing on. "My father— liked to hunt. He wanted to teach me, when I was old enough to learn how to handle a gun. I don't think I ever liked it, but there were times... I was with him. That night— I think—" </p><p>Is he a coward, if he can't say it when he sees Ryoma's face? </p><p>For a moment Xander wonders if Ryoma has understood him anyway. But Ryoma says nothing, and Xander supposes this, too, is a form of cowardice, hoping that the confession will be taken from him. It's unworthy of him. He fixes his eyes on Ryoma's shoulder and forges onward. "If it is the night I think, then I was there," he says, low and grave and so, so sorry. "I did not know. But I was there, and did nothing."</p><p>He remembers the child and the wolf, remembers how Father had explained that they must get the child from the wolf – for her safety, surely? – and Xander had fallen in line, fit his horse into the circle beside the others Father had hired for the hunt. It was nice to be trusted with something, even if Xander didn't really like what they were doing. Father had shared something with Xander, and with Mother gone he was all Xander had. </p><p>Even that fleeting warmth is all over ashes now. </p><p>"You didn't know," Ryoma murmurs, agreeing with him, and with this a different warmth floods back. He looks pained, but not accusatory, when Xander flickers a quick glance at his face. "I know that much. You have been too shocked, this last little while, to be lying. I don't hold you responsible. You would have been my age or so."</p><p>It feels like cheating, this absolution. Xander holds on to it anyway. </p><p>Ryoma comes off the wall, then, standing straight. He stays there hesitant in the open space. Xander gives half a thought to inviting him to sit again, and can't quite seem to form the words. Eventually Ryoma paces toward the chair – eyes the bed – paces back toward the window. "You asked why today," Ryoma says finally, still not quite settling down in any one place. He tilts his face up to the window again. "I suppose it could have been any day. But I have wanted to be honest with you for a while now, and for Corrin, the pack as a whole is more willing to take a risk. This was the soonest I could meet with you once we had realized she was truly alive."</p><p>Xander doesn't know what to do with much of this – he can feel a question in the space between them, something Ryoma hasn't asked yet but must. It won't be easy. One thing does catch his attention as immediately addressable, at least. "The soonest? That's right— you said someone in your family was ill?"</p><p>"My mother." Ryoma grimaces. "The news of Corrin was— a relief, but a shock as well, and something unavoidable that required much of her strength happened almost simultaneously." Xander recognizes this as a careful evasion: likely true, but light on the finer details. "She will be fine."</p><p>"May I ask— is it private, or simply complicated?" Xander asks before he can think better of it. It's surely forward, but he has to wonder how much in the world around him now is magical, one way or another. </p><p>Ryoma hesitates over this, too, long enough Xander is almost certain he's misstepped. "Complicated," Ryoma says eventually. "Mother maintains certain protections. They were very stressed, as though from an attack. We couldn't identify the source, but all is well for now." </p><p>The timing, when Xander thinks about it, is an odd coincidence; but he can't begin to summon an image of what such an attack on Ryoma's family would look like, not to mention where it might come from and why. "If there is any help I can offer," Xander starts anyway, because he may be uneducated in this regard but at least he knows it is right to look out for the people he likes. </p><p>Ryoma is already shaking his head, however. "I don't think so," he says. "—well. There is, but not regarding that."</p><p>The thing left unasked earlier, perhaps. "Go on," Xander prompts. </p><p>Ryoma moves as though he's going to settle in the desk chair again but doesn't, only stands awkwardly beside it. "It's Corrin," he says gingerly. "I am aware— your family has raised her, and she may not remember any other, but— at the least she should have the chance to know her mother. Where she comes from. That she was loved." </p><p>Here Xander freezes. It's reasonable, and he should have seen this coming, but how is he to arrange it? "It isn't immediately feasible," he says. The deferment is empty, not a true resolution nor solution, and he knows this. He isn't offering anything at all. "Corrin attends a boarding school in Europe. Father— may allow her to come home for Christmas?"</p><p>Hollow. Xander doesn't like the way his own voice sounds. </p><p>Ryoma's brows knit in a frown. "Why Europe," he murmurs, and then, louder, "How long has she been there...?"</p><p>That question, at least, is easy. "When she would have started high school here— that is, when she was fourteen." </p><p>"Hm." Ryoma seems to be picking at a problem rather than angry with the roadblock as Xander had half anticipated. "It would have been obvious by then..." He trails off, eyes distant. </p><p>He doesn't seem like he's about to elaborate. "What would have been obvious?" Xander wants to know. If there is some puzzle here, he likely has more of the pieces regarding Corrin. As unfair as Ryoma doubtless feels that is.</p><p>Ryoma focuses then, tilts his head. "Corrin isn't wolf," he says simply. "Surely you would have noticed, if she changed with the moon. She is Mother's child, truly, but Mother herself married into the pack. Thirteen or fourteen is about the latest we would expect a shift to happen. So: your father sent Corrin away once she proved not to be a wolf in blood. I cannot help but wonder if it is at all related."</p><p>Xander feels as though he's seeing only the corner pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. "I don't understand," he says. "Why would Father want a wolf child, specifically?"</p><p>"Why would he hunt my father?" Ryoma returns, spreading his hands apart. It's an easy gesture, and there is no accusation in his voice, only a certain strain about his eyes. "That is the hardest part. We cannot see what it gained him, only the cruelty. The pack was shaken, destabilized, yes— but killing one wolf doesn't remove the rest. The land passed to Mother, and to me. Father's body was intact, unless he stole fang or fur that we missed in the dark."</p><p>Something about this last rouses some memory. Xander half-closes his eyes to try to stir it clear of muck, figure out what it is that's attracted his attention. Something about the last time he was in Father's study...</p><p>"There may be something," he says, slowly, uncertain but unwilling to hide the possibility, either. "Something Father had— I don't know for certain, but I recall something like a large tooth, or a fang. If I found it to show you, would that be of any help?"</p><p>"...I'm not sure," Ryoma admits. "If it is my father's, I would want it back, but that alone wouldn't tell us why, only that it may have been used to direct – something – at myself or the pack."</p><p>"Because of the relation, it could be used against you?" Xander ventures, not at all certain, but it seems like the most likely conclusion. </p><p>"Yes. Blood is one of the easiest ties for magic to follow. That is... that is how I knew, when my father had died," Ryoma says. This last comes a little more slowly. Perhaps he isn't sure he wants to explain it to Xander; perhaps it is still something deep and painful. "Certain things are passed down in the blood. For good, or for ill."</p><p>Xander looks down at his hands, stares at them unseeing. "Whatever is passed down," he says slowly. "If it is by blood, how does it tell which child to go to?"</p><p>"...Huh," Ryoma says at length, a new note in his voice. "To my knowledge, it would go to the eldest, but... all of my siblings would have some claim, I think, however indirect. I have no children, so my death would likely see the leading of us passed to Hinoka, first." </p><p>"And if someone could manipulate that tie?" Xander is guessing here-- no. He is hypothesizing. There is more than a guess. He has stirred up memories of a fang in Father's hand, of glass vials filled with red. Of—</p><p>Sometimes, when Xander has misstepped badly with Father, no hand need be raised for Xander to feel that displeasure keenly—</p><p>Ryoma sits, finally. He is less careful about how his robe falls this time. It's not immodest, it's only that there's a play of shadow and cloth which is leading, and much more pleasant to think about than this concept of blood and magic. </p><p>Still. Focusing on that is dangerous, too. Xander closes his hands into fists.</p><p>"It might not be impossible," Ryoma says. Delicately, noncommittally. "Then again, even believing it possible might be enough. Say that an individual wanted what my father carried in his blood; and as there would be no way to take it from him without sharing that blood, a living child too young to recall anything might be the next best method."</p><p>Xander has gone from stone-dread to nausea. He does not <em>want</em> to believe it of Father. "What is it?" he says, abruptly. He has to know. What is it that might be so valuable, so important, that Father would go so far? </p><p>"I don't know." Ryoma sounds bleak. When Xander looks at him again, he has covered his eyes, as though against a light. "Much of the knowledge of it was lost decades ago. And Father— I was thirteen. We assumed there would be time. If Raijinto is what your f— what that man is after, he may well have more knowledge than I do."</p><p>There is a terrible injustice in that, one Xander feels down to his bones. "My father," Xander says quietly. As kind as it is of Ryoma to lean on plausible deniability, to try to spare Xander something, it is unnecessary. No— it <em>should not</em> be necessary. "It's all right."</p><p>"Nothing about this is all right," Ryoma mutters, but he straightens up anyway, eyes bright in the way of one containing tears until some later, more acceptable occasion. "No— that is an overstatement. I am pleased for your presence and understanding; it makes something unbearable— rather less so.”</p><p>Xander stares. How does the man just come out and <em>say</em> things like that? Especially when they are all tangled up in grief and blood and the failure of the world to be fair, and Xander is now not only sick through to his stomach with the wrongness, but also <em>blushing</em> to boot.</p><p>"Perhaps it is not the time," Ryoma says hastily. "I only wish to make sure you know I do not blame <em>you</em>."</p><p>He doesn't deserve that, but he can't be sure a demurral won't simply net him further reassurances. "Thank you," Xander murmurs distantly. He flexes his hands, settles them folded in his lap. Notes again the faint glow of him, conscious, remembering. They are neither of them human. </p><p>He cannot forget any of this. No matter how unhappy it is. </p><p>"Is Corrin the only way I may help?" Xander lifts his chin, determined despite the cascade of heavy revelations, a little light-headed with the concept of what he is offering, what it means. He does not think it will be necessarily easy. But: doing nothing is also, certainly, incorrect.</p><p>The smile Ryoma directs at him could surely melt ice. "What we have spoken of already is not inconsiderable," he says. "To arrange some way to meet with Corrin, even if it must wait a little while to be practical. And the fang you mentioned..." He thinks about it visibly, fingers tapping against each other, and settles. "At a picture, I will be able to tell if it is a wolf's or not, at the very least. I would not wish you to find trouble for something that may ultimately be fruitless; but if there is any part of my father in the possession of yours, I would ask your help to reclaim it."</p><p>Xander finds that both of these requests sound reasonable, and yet as tall as mountains. To get Corrin home for Christmas will be difficult enough, let alone getting her somewhere unnoticed. If he manages it, it will be Father's seclusion and focus in his study that does it, and that will put something of a crimp in the issue of getting into the study to see about the fang Xander half-remembers.</p><p>Perhaps the next time Father is on a business trip. Those are rarer than they once were, but it may yet be possible.</p><p>He could say no. Ryoma is asking, not attempting to blackmail or guilt him.</p><p>Somehow this makes Xander want to help more, not less. "I will try," Xander says quietly. "A picture, when I can, to start; and I will see if anything further can be done to persuade Father about bringing Corrin home for the holidays."</p><p>It isn't much. Certainly it isn't worth the way Ryoma looks at him, as though the sun has broken through the trees after a long night.</p><p>"Thank you," Ryoma says. He glances away, then down, and when he looks at Xander again it's a look up, almost through his lashes. "I must confess— I had thought you might be more upset that I have been visiting in wolf form."</p><p>Xander shakes his head. "I'm relieved your name isn't 'Happy,' for one thing," he says, which draws a quick bark of a laugh from Ryoma. "I— suppose it was a kind of deception, yes. I don't know. Perhaps I should feel angry; but I have learned a great deal of shocking information in a very short time." He considers his hands again. Still, that faint radiance. He's almost numb to it now, neither wondering nor disbelieving. "I do not think I wish to be angry with you, right now. I will let you know if that changes."</p><p>Right now he just doesn't know. What he may have said unknowing, what privacies may have been seen. But Ryoma is smiling again, even if it's small and gentle, and that rather does improve things.</p><p>"I will give you time to work through things," Ryoma says at length, rising. He collects the little photo album, his phone, the coil of rope. "If you have questions – if you simply want to talk – you are never a disruption. If I have thumbs, I will answer." One corner of his smile deepens with a mischievous warmth.</p><p>The number of times he has called Ryoma while standing right in front of him. The sheer irony alone threatens to make Xander laugh. "I appreciate it," he says. "At the moment I would barely know what to ask, but— I want to understand." He hesitates, the word <em>everything</em> trapped behind his teeth. Everything is a dangerous thing. Despite how much has been told, there is still that sense, like a puzzle not finished, a match of chess some several moves from mate. What has he missed?</p><p>He will find out.</p><p>"I am happy to help." There's a short sketch of a bow. "I would like to visit on other days, but I will wait for your word that it is acceptable. For now— may I borrow one of the other rooms to change? It's easier to pack a bag with hands."</p><p>Xander wonders if Ryoma means to visit in the future as a man or as a wolf. Or perhaps both. He would hope for both, if he is honest. "You may use mine," Xander says, rising in turn. "I shall assist you with the door."</p><p>There is something delightfully surreal about how mundane it is, waiting for Ryoma to shift and get his things together. Xander stands just outside, and when Ryoma has his things in order he taps a paw at the door. In answer Xander opens it, and the wolf – Happy – Ryoma trots out into the hall, the bundle of everything secured neatly in his jaws. Xander realizes belatedly someone at home, likely one of his siblings, would have had to help with the tying of the first one onto his back.</p><p>Should he have offered the use of his hands? It's a little late now. Ryoma is already moving for the back door. Xander follows him. "Thank you," he says again as he opens it.</p><p>Ryoma pauses in the open doorway, nose tilted up, ears pricked toward Xander. The angle of his head is such that Xander can nearly see how the man would be looking at him.</p><p>"For giving me the truth," Xander clarifies. "All of it."</p><p>One of Ryoma's ears flickers. There's a short puff of air like a sigh, and then he leans heavily to the side, shoulder at Xander's hip with some force. It feels affectionate, even if Xander is guessing about that.</p><p>"Safe trip," Xander says, and Ryoma takes off, covering ground in long loping strides once he is out in the open. Xander cannot help but watch.</p><p>Very, very belatedly, it occurs to him that if the wolf is Ryoma, then he has certainly called Ryoma majestic to his face. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sure it only took 70k for this secret to come out. </p><p>But wait: there's more family secrets in this amazing bundle! What a deal!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. snorri discourse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma still can't believe Xander doesn't know what he <em>is</em>. How does a man go for, Ryoma presumes, most of his adult life glowing and never realize this isn't a human thing, never ask further? He almost wonders if there's something further at work there, something to cause that earnest puzzlement he'd seen on Xander. </p><p>Maybe Mother had a chance to do some research before she collapsed. Perhaps the time spent resting will have stirred some memories up. Either way, Ryoma doesn't want to bother her immediately. He's home well after midnight. He stops to look in on Mother anyway, as quietly as he knows how. Hinoka is asleep across her legs, it looks like, and both she and Mother are well and breathing. </p><p>Ryoma's too keyed up for sleep. He stops in the kitchen for a snack, since he didn't stop to hunt on his way back, and takes himself off to the library with his laptop. There's a couple of things he should do. </p><p>The Prose Edda is still out on the table where he last left it. Ryoma settles down opposite it, eying it with some unfriendliness. It hadn't been very helpful. </p><p>It <em>is</em> one of the best known books of Norse myth, though. He relents after a minute or two, drags it back across the table to flip through. <em>Gylfaginning, Skáldskaparmál, Háttatal</em>... There's a preface describing the different volumes, the different versions that have survived from the fourteenth century. Ryoma's been over it once or twice already, hoping it might suggest an older text, one closer to the source material.</p><p>There's no more helpfulness than there was the last time he looked. Ryoma leaves the book open and takes to his computer instead. </p><p>The contacts he has in various nonhuman groups are predominantly phone numbers, but there are two emails he can type up right now. First Kaden, since the kitsune are closest and most likely to know about locals— Ryoma notes the mystical attack, asks if they know of any strange movements or any magic that might carry the scent of ivy. Hints broadly that he could probably locate his mom's notes on how to make konpeito by way of thanks if Kaden happens to come up with something.</p><p>The email to Keaton, leader of the Europe pack Ryoma knows of, is rather less personal; they haven't spoken very much at all, beyond a few cursory notes when pack members have been traveling internationally. He doesn't ask Keaton about attacks or ivy, only asks if he – being rather closer to the countries suspected of origin – might know any stories of people who happen to glow at night. </p><p>Unfortunately, neither of these communications are going to have immediate results, which leaves Ryoma staring at the Prose Edda again and debating who else he can chance calling at this time of night. </p><p>He winds up on antique book sales websites instead, under the vague concept that he might be able to find an older Norse text. He does not. He finds old biographies, critique of the Prose Edda as being very much a product of the places Christianity took up in Norse beliefs and possibly concealing native folklore under tritely obvious good versus evil metaphors in light and darkness, and Snorri Sturluson discourse. </p><p>—Wait, what was that before last?</p><p>Ryoma hunts back through a scant wikipedia article on dökkálfar and ljósálfar. Dark elves and light elves. While mouthfuls he wouldn't care to attempt out loud, it notes that while mentions of both were scarce, dökkálfar were considered distinct from svartálfar, which had similar meanings to their name but were largely considered to be actually dwarves. </p><p>The light elves, ljósálfar, are fairer than the sun. There's precious little beyond that to go on, in truth. Even with the Edda right there, and Ryoma paging back through the first part for those few mentions, it isn't much: enumeration of their place in the cosmos, more than any detailed stories. Certainly nothing that might tell him if light elves might happen to glow as a matter of course. </p><p>Discouraged again, Ryoma sits back in his chair, contemplating bed. He's done what he can. More than likely he isn't going to get very much further, one way or another, until he's had a chance to talk to Mother, or if Kaden or Keaton get back to him, which he isn't counting on at – ah – two in the morning.</p><p>Still it nags at him, as he packs his things up. Elves. </p><p>They don't talk about what Mother is. Stories hold that talking about them in explicit terms gets their attention, and Mother has always been very firm on not, to the point that they think she <em>can't</em> say anything more specific than a euphemism in passing, and as a result it is something known and never spoken of, rarely thought of. Mother is Mother. That is enough. But: here in the privacy of his own mind, it is safe enough for Ryoma to consider that the lords and ladies, the fine gentlefolk of the hills, have also been known as elves now and then, and that Mother had thought she might recognize the idea of a sunlight-glow after dark. </p><p>He passes out in his own bed on that note, and his dreams are all sunlit again. Early mornings and later afternoons, warm earth and warm beds, warm lover in his arms. When he wakes – sometime past noon – it's to a faint headache, the certainty that he dreamed of Xander, and the vague heart-pang of an empty bed. </p><p>With some effort, Ryoma puts these from his mind. Later. He's not even going to check to see if Xander has sent him anything yet. His phone would have sounded, and he's not going to drive himself mad with impatient hope. So: necessary hair maintenance and a good shower later, Ryoma takes what he's found up to see Mother. </p><p>She's awake, sitting up in bed with books spread across her lap. Takumi is there also, wolf-form with chin propped on Mother's ankle. He rouses at Ryoma's presence – points his ears that way with some vague interest – then subsides again, since Ryoma isn't a threat or something he needs to shift back for. Mother looks up a beat later, smiles wearily. "There you are," she says. "How did it go?"</p><p>"Well enough." Ryoma drops into the chair at her bedside, nudges the Prose Edda into an empty space on the bed beside her. She’d been reading it that day, hadn’t she? "I had to shift a couple of times. He really didn't know anything— not even what he is."</p><p>"Not even his own heritage?" Mother murmurs, brow knit as she reaches over to touch the book thoughtfully. "How strange."</p><p>"Strange," Ryoma agrees. "Yes. But— he believed me. About everything. Where he hesitated, it was grief. I think..." Ryoma trails off, chewing over what he's about to say before he puts it into the air. It's a vague impression, one he's only barely noticed, and to put it into words takes a little work. "I think maybe he had some kind of suspicion, and now that I've given him something concrete, that was all he needed." He's said before he doesn't think Xander is much like his father at all. And when Ryoma thinks back to the way Xander looked over the photographs, to the way his face almost crumpled and then smoothed out blank as he admitted <em>he might have been there</em>...</p><p>Not a cruel man, nor even an unkind one. All the same, Ryoma thinks he'll be keeping that last portion to himself. The pack doesn't need to know.</p><p>"Go on," Mother prompts. </p><p>Ryoma tugs himself out of those thoughts briefly so he can summarize what he hasn't yet. "He cannot promise anything immediate," he says, more soberly. "He has said— there is a chance there may be some relic of Father in his father's possession, so he plans to locate it so that I may identify it, if such a thing exists. As for Corrin... well, it isn't much yet, but Xander has been working to get her home for Christmas. She is away in Europe right now, at a boarding school. I had the impression..." </p><p>He waits for a moment while Mother closes her eyes, breathes deep, blots with her sleeve. "Xander is the eldest of his siblings, but he still walks delicately around his father," Ryoma says finally, putting that last impression into words. "If he has not cut ties, I suspect it is because he has younger siblings who may be... unsafe?"</p><p>He isn't sure. It isn't the sort of thing he's ever encountered within his circles, only read horror stories in papers and on the internet. But what stops a man from striking out on his own when he has an income and a place to live already set up? What makes Xander wear gloves so often, why does he not live in the place he clearly cares about, why are all his siblings bar one in boarding schools? It made sense to Ryoma at first, for Xander to act wary, even so far as scared at the prospect of trespassing into his father's things. Now with his mind clearer Ryoma makes <em>less</em> sense of it. If Father had caught Ryoma in his matters at thirteen it would have been a reprimand, but a fond one. There has never been any fear there.</p><p>For Ryoma to fear Xander's father is one thing. For <em>Xander</em> to fear him, or what actions he might take, is another. </p><p>He regrets saying it aloud as soon as he comes out of his thoughts enough to see Mother's face. Stricken, open in a way he rarely sees. It isn't hard to guess why, either: Corrin, in such a place? "Perhaps it's for the best that his younger siblings are away?" Ryoma offers hastily. He is not convinced he is making it better, casts about for a suitable tangent. "I— did not inquire after pictures, I'm afraid, but I suspect Xander would provide some if I asked."</p><p>Mother gives him a look that suggests she knows exactly what he's doing, but she doesn't call him out on the distraction, either. Takumi looks dozy, down by the foot of the bed, but his ears are pinned back against his head and his tail is tucked more securely than it was. He’s not precisely happy about any of this, either. </p><p>"Please do so," Mother says eventually, when they have all taken a few breaths and settled themselves. "I would appreciate it." There is a moment where Ryoma thinks she might say something more, but she does not. </p><p>In the silence Ryoma watches Mother's off hand tap absently on the book. He reaches out, just enough to brush her fingertips. "I had also wondered if you might have recalled anything more," he says. "You said there was… something perhaps familiar? About the idea of someone who glows, so?"</p><p>Mother nods. She doesn't look directly at him. "I have had more than enough time to think," she says, with a quick wry twist to her mouth before her expression smooths out again. "It isn't much. A theory; a chance rememberance. But there was a time, when I was young and learning of histories..." </p><p>That track of conversation fades. Mother draws herself primly upright, even though she is in concept at rest in bed, and folds her hands together in her lap. "You're familiar with divergent evolution, of course," she says. It seems like a complete aside, but Ryoma pays close attention anyway. It can't be a non sequitur, which means it is a careful way to talk around things. "From a common ancestor, many descendants. A change in location, a change in food source, and some of the population grows one way, and some grows another. Thousands of years down the line, they are at least different breeds, if not different species. Yes?"</p><p>"I am familiar," Ryoma says, slow only because he is considering possibilities silently and trying to carry on a conversation out loud at the same time. "Darwin's finches for a concrete example?"</p><p>Mother nods. "It isn't a bad one," she says. "From one bird, many, to fill the different available niches."</p><p>Ryoma sits back, and he looks at Mother, and he doesn't answer for a long time. He can't quite tell if this means that her folk were progenitors, or that some older, rawer elf ancestor spread out, resulting in different kinds in different places. Sídhe and ljósálfar, and who knows where else, what else. Certainly he would not call Xander like Mother, in looks or in aspect. "Are the finches fully different species by now?" he wonders aloud, finally.</p><p>"I wouldn't know," Mother says, thoughtful over the Prose. "I haven't been to see them. Nor would I be able to tell you how they fly."</p><p>It sounds like a dead end to him. Ryoma taps his fingers together thinking. He'd hoped to be able to tell Xander something more, to learn something about that family and what to expect from Garon. 'Like an elf' isn't precisely helpful. He knows Mother's limitations by feeling around them, by the learning of experience and practice; and, of course, when they were younger, no small amount of Father's help either. </p><p>"What about Katerina?" Ryoma tries, in the vague hope that Mother will be able to say a little more than the last time this came up. </p><p>"Katerina," Mother says, softly. There is another long unsteady pause, and just when Ryoma has given up the hope that Mother will be able to give him anything more, she adds, "Katerina reminded me of my sister."</p><p>He had known – vaguely – that Mother had some living family member, somewhere, but nevertheless to hear them so bluntly referenced is startling. Ryoma sits up straight, eyes a little wider. Takumi's ears are focused <em>intently</em> toward them.</p><p>"How so?" Ryoma asks, nearly holding his breath. </p><p>Mother looks away, more or less toward the window. "Temperament," she says, "and pinfeathers. Have you tried any of the friends your father had in Europe?" </p><p>It has the air of finality, of moving on. Ryoma shakes his head. <em>Temperament and pinfeathers</em>. That's going to need extra effort to figure out what she might mean. "I've done one email," he says. "I meant to call a few others when the time got better, and see what they might know."</p><p>"I think that might be wise," Mother says, and she offers him the Prose Edda back. Ryoma tucks it against his side, and they talk of lighter things, calmer things. Things that don't necessitate Mother talking in circles. </p><p>Now Ryoma has wondering to do about Mother's sister, too. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am playing a little fast and loose with my mythology here. </p><p>...okay, I was from the beginning, actually, but like. More.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. conclusion parkour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Processing takes a while, such that Xander is sitting on his bed at the ranch well into the early, early morning, mind still racing. All the many implications of Ryoma and his family being werewolves fight for prominence. Chief among them is the part where Father is the one who murdered Ryoma's father. That takes a while to put down, and Xander keeps returning to it as though to prod a wound that isn't healing.</p><p>When he clears that from his mind, he stumbles into the next most recent realization, which is that after Ryoma had bolted from their date—</p><p>It wasn't a date.</p><p>But Ryoma hadn't fled so very far, he had only gone behind the cafe, where he had turned into a wolf and begun to howl. And he had been happy to see Xander, even as upset as he had been. It means something, even if Xander shies away from examining precisely what too closely. Ryoma likes him, and doesn't hold him responsible. It is enough.</p><p>—where had his clothes wound up? Clothing doesn't change with the wolf, as had been rather pointedly demonstrated. Xander leans away from that thought, as well, though that's mostly because even sitting alone like this, his face has begun to heat uncomfortably. The recollection of bare skin and almost-concealing shadow is vivid and inescapable.</p><p>Thoughts of Ryoma are perhaps a little unsafe for a while. Xander considers the new mystery of himself instead. He's still glowing faintly— and he keeps forgetting that, too, keeps finding himself not acknowledging it or simply not <em>seeing</em> it. Like blinders on a horse: what he doesn't look directly at, he can't see.</p><p>He glows at night. The earring Camilla gave him stops it— no. Hides it. Xander needs to know what he is, if he isn't human; and if he is, why the soft sunglow in his skin.</p><p>Almost without thinking about it, he calls Leo.</p><p>"This is a surprise," Leo says. He sounds cheerful enough, for Leo, which involves a certain amount of sarcasm if only because Xander thinks Leo may have forgotten how to turn it all the way off. "Good morning, Xander."</p><p>Xander means to return the greeting politely. What comes out is, "What are we?"</p><p>There's brief silence. "That's an interesting question," Leo says, with a careful sort of blandness that doesn't sound like him at all. "How do you mean that?"</p><p>"<em>Leo</em>." Xander supposes this is a fair return question, if he hasn't acknowledged this before, but Leo is rather making things harder than they have to be. "What I mean is, I’ve been glowing all night, and I would like to understand precisely why."</p><p>"<em>Ah</em>," Leo says, and he sounds delighted, enlightened. "We aren't human. Or at least, Father isn't, so all of us are at least half— I haven't had the chance to do any genetic testing really, this isn't something that can be farmed out to an internet startup, and Mother is unavailable for comment."</p><p>Leo says it so easily. "Half what?" Xander presses.</p><p>The noncommittal sound Leo makes isn't precisely reassuring. "Difficult to say. None of the shapechangers, in any case, but it's harder to say we're 'of light' when you take Camilla into account."</p><p>"Camilla," Xander echoes blankly. He can't for a moment think why Camilla specifically comes into this, except that she's the only one of them who isn't as blonde as Father had been in his youth. It comes to him slowly: recollections of the forge when she's taken her own earring off, an odd magnetism and focus to her that has nothing to do with light. The way she draws in what's around her. </p><p>"Yes, Camilla," Leo says, a little impatiently. "You've seen her work. Whatever she has is forge-magic, making-magic. Things of— of darkness, and heat, and places beneath the earth. She's our sister, I'm not about to contest that, but that part isn't much like the rest of us."</p><p>Something about the way Leo says those words feels important. Xander can't pinpoint what, but he tries to hold onto it – perhaps if he sees it in another light something may make better sense. </p><p>"What's your best guess?" Xander asks. He knows Leo. If Leo hasn't theorized this to hell and back, he'll be surprised.</p><p>"Mmmh." Leo doesn't sound very pleased at the concept of guessing. "Something. Not having another shape rules out a lot, as it turns out. We also don't require any kind of special feeding that I've noticed, which rules out anything in the vampire family. We don't have any uniform elemental inclination. So, my best guess is some kind of elf, but folklore is rife with things that fall under the umbrella of the 'Fair Folk.' It's not a very narrowed field."</p><p>Elf. Xander doesn't yet know how he feels about it, but for the moment it's only a syllable to attach to glow, nothing more and nothing less. "...I see," Xander says belatedly, realizing some response may be required. How else is he meant to respond? It is more than he knew, but there's very little to do with that information except have it. It is not so much of an explanation as he had hoped. </p><p>"You asked," Leo says grudgingly. "I'm sure Father knows, but whatever he does know, he's not telling, and he's not letting me look at the books in his study."</p><p>"Why wouldn't he want us to know." Xander doesn't quite mean to wonder this aloud, taps the phone idly as he thinks things through. Perhaps it might be best phrased, why does Father want them to not know? Camilla does work for him. Surely if anyone would benefit from such knowledge, it would be her, and by her work Father would benefit. Perhaps Xander can ask Camilla.</p><p>"I have a few theories." Leo answers as absently as Xander feels. "That's not important right now. Xander— hey. What made you ask about this now?" </p><p>A wolf turned into a man in his bedroom. Xander stifles this answer. "...I noticed," he says instead. "And— I suppose I noticed that I haven't been noticing."</p><p>"I see." Leo's voice has a frown in it now. "That's... interesting timing." </p><p>"How so?" Xander should remember something, but he's missing it.  </p><p>"The widow I talked about the last time I tried to bring any of this up," Leo says. He's starting to seem very distant, like he's holding the phone a space away from him. "I got her attention, and suddenly you can think straight about all this." </p><p>Vaguely, vaguely Xander can place it, nestled along a much stronger memory of Leo asking him to be careful. That didn't have anything to do with it, though, he thinks – and he's a little concerned about how Leo may have gotten someone's attention, from where he is. But he's not sure he can tell Leo the <em>actual</em> reason, either. "I'm not sure about that," he hedges. </p><p>He trusts his brother, but— Ryoma might not. And Ryoma's trusted Xander with something large and precious. Xander thinks of that family picture, of a lanky young wolf filled with an earnest affection, and holds his tongue. </p><p>"I am," Leo says. "Don't worry about it, Xander. I'm going to fix this." </p><p>"Leo, wait—"</p><p>"Be safe." The phone clicks. Xander listens to dead air for a minute at least, just in case; and when he redials, it rings for a long time before the voicemail kicks in.</p><p>On later attempts, it goes straight to voicemail. </p><p>As ominous as it might be, Leo <em>can</em> look after himself. It's possible he has class. There are any number of possibilities. Xander will check in on him later, until he gets an answer. It's not as if Leo has any way himself to get home without involving a train or an airplane. </p><p>For the moment, Xander returns to the house.</p><p>Still too empty. The few staff still on payroll aren’t in yet; even the usual low hum of sound from the downstairs forge is still for now, in the early morning. That's not completely unusual – Camilla is not what any of them would call a morning person – but Xander still finds he misses the concept of a house full of light and movement, even if it hasn't been their truth for a long time. </p><p>He naps a little, just enough to take the edge off creeping exhaustion. Better to live with being a little tired than wake up much later in the afternoon and have to cope with a shifted schedule. When he comes downstairs again the house is still quiet, but this time Camilla's in the kitchen, curls piled high on her head and a quest for ingredients in the fridge in process. "Good morning," Xander says absently, without checking if it actually is still morning, and adds after another moment, "What are you making?" </p><p>"Waffles," Camilla says, with a sort of grim determination that seems out of place in the kitchen. "Can you find me the iron?"</p><p>It isn't quite the conversation Xander wants to have, but he doesn't think he could turn Camilla down if he wanted to. Dutifully he hunts through cabinets he's just the wrong side of familiar with until he finds two options: a sleek modern thing with helpful indicator lights, and something older, black and heavy, which looks more like it belongs downstairs.</p><p>Perhaps unsurprisingly, it's the latter which Camilla takes out of his hands with a pleased sound. "There it is. Good. Thank you, Xander." </p><p>She handles it as if it weighs little more than a feather. Xander glances sidelong at her, notes the gentle smile on her face, and relaxes a touch just for that alone. With her hair up the old cheek scar is visible, a dull-shiny burn that just missed the corner of her eye. More than that, though, Xander also notes the earring she wears, the black wrought-metal cuff in the same style as his own, and it reminds him of his wonderings. </p><p>A moment after Camilla catches him looking, and there's something wry, almost self-deprecating – though Xander can't imagine why – about the way her smile slants. "Don't worry about it," she says, gently, soothingly, and Xander almost doesn't. </p><p>She unclips her hair, lets it fall loose and cloaking again, and for several moments Xander stands there hands empty, mind empty, trying to figure out what thought he'd just been trying to follow. Camilla and hiding, Camilla and making, Camilla and jewelry...</p><p>His mind doesn't want to follow. Obstinate Xander plods along that hidden thought path until he arrives at a conclusion, though Camilla has to nudge him out of the way so she can reach a cabinet in the mean time. Finally he gets where he was going, while Camilla puts batter together and hums idly. "Camilla," he says. "What are we?" </p><p>Camilla stops humming, and her stirring hitches, goes uneven before resuming. "Siblings, of course," she says lightly, fondly.</p><p>She isn't wrong, but it isn't what he was asking. "Of course," Xander agrees. "What else?" </p><p>She doesn't answer immediately. Belatedly Xander realizes he's trying to bring this – whatever it is – up in the middle of the kitchen, in the middle of the day, and he hasn't even ascertained where Father is. "Have you seen Father today?" </p><p>"He had a business meeting earlier, out of the house," Camilla says, answering more readily now. "When he came back, he went to his study."</p><p>Safe enough to speak on things like this, then, Xander assumes, with how many hours at a stretch Father spends there. Although it will certainly complicate his plan to look around as he promised Ryoma. When she says nothing more, only starts to frown faintly over waffle batter, Xander presses again. "Do you know what we are?" </p><p>There's a short silence, and a quiet sigh. "We are what we are," Camilla murmurs, and sets the mixing bowl heavily on the counter. "Have you seen chocolate chips?"</p><p>Xander has not, but obligingly he goes to look. This makes three times Camilla has dodged the query instead of answering even with a lack of knowledge. "Is there some reason I shouldn't know?" he tries instead. It seems the only logical conclusion.</p><p>He's hit something, at least; Camilla pauses on her way to the stove, then turns toward him instead. Xander closes the cabinet that's proven not to have chocolate chips, meets her serious gaze with all the earnestness he has. "I just want to understand," he says. Shouldn't that be reason enough?</p><p>Camilla softens, and she steps toward him just enough that she can pat his cheek, tuck an errant curl behind his ear. "Leo is like that, too," she says, full of an affection directed toward both of her brothers. "Can you let it be? As a favor, to me?"</p><p>Xander hesitates. It's tempting. More tempting than it should be, to simply accede, and stop examining this strange, difficult thing. "...I think it's important," he says finally, quietly. </p><p>"Oh, darling. Of course it's important." Camilla ruffles up his hair, then ducks past him as Xander is frowning about the disarray. "It wouldn't be a favor if it wasn't important. But you look after us enough, Xander. Let me handle what Father needs from our heritage. it's easiest that way."</p><p>Ignorance as protection. They do this for Corrin and Elise, after a fashion, keep the little burdens they don't need to know the truth of away. It's – sweet, that Camilla wants to protect him just the same. Even if Xander still feels it's his responsibility as the eldest to keep them all safe, he is sure he would be hard pressed to stop her from feeling that way, and she would not be Camilla if she did not.</p><p>It does rather leave him at a loss, though; and Camilla has not the grasp of why Xander wants to know. "Perhaps," Xander starts, and doesn't finish. Perhaps what? Perhaps Father shouldn't need anything from her at all. Perhaps they shouldn't be on feathers and eggshells, careful not to look at this thing braided into the tree of their family. </p><p>How long can they protect Corrin and Elise if nothing is changed? </p><p>"Perhaps?" Camilla inquires. She has located the chocolate chips. On her way back, she shoves one into Xander's mouth as he tries to speak.</p><p>He takes a moment over the bitter little burst of sweetness and tries again. "Perhaps," Xander says, haltingly, "Father is not... who he once was."</p><p>Even this little acknowledgement has never been said out loud before. Xander feels the traitor for saying it, the son failing at his duties. </p><p>Camilla looks sharply at him, hands stilled in the middle of picking up her spatula. Her posture takes some several moments to relax, long enough Xander wonders if he has misstepped. "...He is not," Camilla agrees finally, and lowers her head again to focus on mixing. "But Father is not in the best of health, either." </p><p>"...I see." It might be a statement that illness can change a man. Xander hears it to mean that Camilla has decided the best strategy is to cope, and wait for Father to die. It's a cold implication, but though it should chill Xander it doesn't. It's simply something that is: a choice Xander can see how she came to. </p><p>"If you want to make yourself useful, you can oil the iron," Camilla says briskly, sending a clear statement that they are <em>moving on</em> from this conversation. She is probably right that it's for the best, it's only— Xander has no answers, and he wants them more than he ever has before. "Otherwise, come back in fifteen minutes." </p><p>Again Xander thinks of Father's study, and the fang that may be relic of Ryoma's father, and the fact that if there are any records or tales of what they might be, then they will be there, in Father's things. All he has to do is find a time when Father isn't there, and while those may be fewer and further between than they were, even Father still has to sleep. </p><p>Xander needs to know the truth, and Father is the only one who has it. </p><p>"Shall I whip some cream, as well?" he offers, and he sees Camilla relax, and – at least for now – he puts his plans from his mind. Later; later. He will watch for the opportunity.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In which Leo may need to be reminded that correlation isn't causation.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. text your crush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Stop refreshing your inbox," Hinoka says from the doorway. </p><p>Guiltily Ryoma jerks, puts his phone down on the bed. "I wasn't," he says, which is almost true. It's not like he's obsessing. He's just a little concerned – and he had promised he wouldn't contact Xander again until Xander reached out. He wants to know things are okay. With Xander, with Xander's family. Between them.</p><p>"Uh-huh," Hinoka says, disbelieving, but she says it with a fondness that takes much of the sting away even as she rolls her eyes. "Stop checking your texts, too. Actually— you might want to leave your phone up here." </p><p>It's interesting phrasing when he hadn't thought he was going anywhere. She's probably right, though. Ryoma sighs – refreshes his inbox just in case – and puts the phone face-down again, tucks it under his pillow. He rises then, stretches, giving some thought also to the benefits of quadrupedal stretching as well. "Am I going somewhere?" </p><p>"Can you help Sakura in the greenhouse?" Hinoka asks. She lifts a shoulder, puts it down. Tilts sideways just enough to lean on his doorframe as if she owns it. "Earlier this week I promised I'd help her, but Setsuna's got a cold and I need to cover for her down at the rehab center first."</p><p>Ah, that makes sense. Sometimes Ryoma forgets Setsuna's human. "Sure," he says. "I don't mind. Is it just bringing the last of the outside plants in before it frosts?"</p><p>"Dunno, probably." Hinoka pushes herself upright again. "She said she was going to head down in a few minutes, so..." </p><p>"I take your meaning." Ryoma raises a hand to stop her before she can go into more detail. "I'll head down to help." </p><p>Hinoka doesn't move immediately, which Ryoma takes to mean she's going to wait for him. Ryoma gives his pillow and phone a brief longing look – what if Xander has texted in these last few moments? – and then sighs. She's right. Staring at it will only be more agonizing, and he's letting himself be overwhelmed by his crush again.</p><p>When Ryoma has been handed off to Sakura's capable guidance, Hinoka takes her leave. </p><p>It's maybe a little insulting that Hinoka feels she needs Sakura to watch him – Ryoma has done decently at not doing anything too stupid so far, if he puts aside the incognito visits to Xander's ranch. But apart from that, Sakura is always pleasant to spend time with, and having his hands in the earth makes Ryoma feel better in any number of ways. </p><p>A lot of the plants are herbs. Sakura has some more than passing interest in medicine – she's spoken once or twice about medical school, but she's dubious that she can make it work, between the difficulty of people, the rigors required from the students, and navigating full moons that will necessarily be away from school. For now there's the homeschooling she's working through, and there will be the local community college first, and maybe in the interim they'll find a solution. Ryoma would hate to see Sakura unable to follow what she desires.</p><p>So he helps her take in those few potted plants that won't take an outdoor winter – most of the delicate ones have already gone inside, and now just the daintiest fruit trees need to be hauled in. Then it's the familiar soothing rhythm of checking plants. Many of them don't strictly need it, thanks to things like an automated watering system, but there is something to be said for personal attention.</p><p>Sakura talks to the plants, when she isn't too self-conscious. This, too, Ryoma loves about her.</p><p>She doesn't ask him about Xander, or about romance, or the choices Ryoma might be making on either topic. It's just plants and gentleness, and it's much later in the day with dirt under their fingernails that Sakura tucks herself against his side and closes her eyes, leaning on him. There's a contented exhalation somewhere just below his shoulder.</p><p>He hasn't thought about checking his phone in hours. </p><p>"Thank you," Ryoma says, and Sakura just nods, unsurprised. "Is there anything else Hinoka promised to help you with?" </p><p>"That was it." Sakura tilts her head back to beam up at him. "Everything goes faster with two sets of hands. If you can help me find Takumi, though...?" </p><p>Ryoma hasn't seen him today, and it transpires she hasn't either. Since he doesn't have much else on his agenda, Ryoma shrugs mentally and shifts. It's easier that way to find the thread of Takumi's winter-storms scent, and like that he and Sakura track Takumi down.</p><p>He's in the music room, frowning at the drum set and not doing anything with it. Ryoma sits back on his haunches and tilts his head, ears pricked. He hadn't thought Takumi had much of an interest in music— neither he nor Sakura had thought to look for Takumi here for a reason, after all. </p><p>"Um," Sakura says, a little behind Ryoma. "Takumi?" </p><p>Takumi flinches, turns with eyes wide and darting, which says he hadn't thought they were there. Another oddness. Usually Takumi has some better awareness than that. "What? <em>What</em>?" </p><p>Sakura steps back a pace. "...we couldn't find you," she says, hesitant. "I didn't mean to interrupt—"</p><p>"No, it's— it's fine." Takumi closes his eyes and lets his breath out, and when he opens them again he's more settled in himself, smiles at Sakura with a more careful gentleness. "...Sorry. I was distracted." </p><p>He doesn't volunteer what by. Ryoma would like to know what by, but Sakura doesn't ask, and Ryoma doesn't really feel like shifting human right now. He contents himself with stretching and standing, and going to sniff the drum set thoroughly over. It smells like Takumi and metal, mostly, nothing more than its component materials. </p><p>Takumi isn't reporting the weird humming noise Hinoka did, though. Hm. </p><p>Ryoma gives Takumi a thoughtful sniff as well, just in case. No, nothing unusual, just Takumi. Takumi nudges his face away irritably. </p><p>"Anyway, um." Sakura shifts on the spot, folds her hands together in front of her. "You said yesterday you wanted to know about different woods, right? I thought, if you still wanted, I could show you a few things...?"</p><p>"Oh, right." Takumi's face clears. "I mean, if you have time? I was looking a few things up, and making your own bow doesn't seem like it's <em>that</em> hard."</p><p>It sounds like Takumi's previously passing interest in archery is taking a more directed course. That's good, Ryoma thinks. He'll leave the two of them to it. He nudges each of them in turn as he passes – gets casual affectionate brushes in return as he goes – and trots back up to his room, the sound of a conversation on the weight and flexibility of different woods trailing him.</p><p>He realizes when he gets to his room that he's left his clothes somewhere down near the greenhouse, but he doesn't especially feel like going to retrieve them right now. Later. For now Ryoma shrugs into something old and loose and goes back to check his emails. </p><p>Nothing from Xander. This is fine. He wasn't obsessing. But there <em>are</em> notes back from Kaden and Keaton, and additionally the dryads he had called and left his email address for. Keaton doesn't know anything about people who glow, but he says it sounds <em>vaguely</em> familiar, like a story he heard once, a long time ago. There's a promise to look into it further, but nothing concrete. Kaden has concerns about the mention of an attack, but still nothing further. The skulk hasn't had any problems, he says, and whatever it was must have been very localized – nobody felt anything, and the older foxes are sensitive enough they should have felt some power moving if it was big.</p><p>The dryads have sent a very politely worded email asking Ryoma not to conflate them with creeping vines, but also that the email is a better contact than the phone, thank you. There is the consideration that they would certainly like to know if there was hostile ivy-magic happening, but they don't know of anything specific. After some consideration Ryoma returns the email clarifying there was just the scent of ivy, and that he wasn't sure if it was a symptom or a cause— but he appreciates their help nevertheless, and if there's ever anything he can do to look after their interests, he'd like to know about it. </p><p>That's about it for helpful responses. It would be nice to have something further to tell Xander beyond Mother's speculations, but he supposes it isn't his responsibility.</p><p>Once all this is handled, Ryoma finally lets himself check his phone. </p><p>There are texts. Plural. From Xander. </p><p>He observes the way his cheer sparks, and subsequently admits to himself that this crush is significantly more than only the scent-bond. Ryoma takes a moment over that. He had been reasonably certain there <em>could</em> be something more, but now he's constantly, consistently noticing his own feelings outside the scent. It's a good sign. His head doesn't feel as thick when his nose is full of Xander, either. </p><p>So he's light when he reads the texts – two lines in total. <em>My siblings don't know anything about what we are</em>, followed by, <em>Did you ever find your clothes from the café? </em></p><p>Ryoma laughs. He can't help it. <em>Mother has some thoughts</em>, he returns, <em>although nothing certain. And no, I'm afraid those jeans must be written off</em>.</p><p>He had bolted out of the café looking simply for the first out of sight place to lean into his instincts, let the more straightforward wolf mind push the bewildering mix of grief and relief into the background. The alley behind it had been easiest, and he had struggled four-legged out of binding fabric with no small amount of help from his teeth before ultimately sitting down and howling. The pants had not survived, and had likely been thrown in the neighboring dumpster by someone with hands. </p><p>They exchange in this vein some little while. Xander, now that he has had some time to absorb things, has more questions about the practicality of werewolves than anything else. Ryoma, amused, answers questions about fashion choices and doors made with handles wolves can manage, the way the lower floors are stone-tiled for easy cleaning and the vast variety of brushes they keep in the house by necessity. It's terribly endearing, he finds. </p><p>And for his part, now that Ryoma has had some time himself, it's easier to ask if Xander wouldn't mind sharing some of the pictures of Corrin he had offered earlier. Mother, Ryoma thinks, will want them, and past the hardest parts of speaking all this it is relieving to see a young Corrin <em>well</em>, even if they would rather her nowhere near Father's murderer.</p><p>Xander doesn't include any of the family portraits that had included Garon. Ryoma doesn't mention this explicitly, but the sense of gratitude for that understanding nearly overwhelms him for a moment. </p><p>There's intermittent texting for most of the rest of the day. Not urgent, not about anything more serious than architecture. Ryoma feels it all nestle somewhere under his breastbone anyway, warm and feathery and growing. </p><p><em>Thank you</em>, Xander says, toward the evening. <em>For explaining.</em></p><p><em>Thank you for listening. And for asking</em>. The list of things Ryoma wants to thank him for are a little longer than that, but he doesn't want to bring too much gravity into this. <em>Let me know if you have more questions.</em></p><p><em>I'm sure I will</em>.</p><p>All things considered, it's been a good day. Ryoma falls asleep smiling, phone on his chest, and he <em>knows</em> he’s being ridiculous and doesn’t even care.</p><p>The dreams that night are warm and sunny, but full of an odd, insistent hum, one Ryoma feels he should know. The next morning the memory of it slips away like water, leaving only a vague rattling in his blood, something prickling and present-pressing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>brief calm.</p><p>I have a lot of thoughts about what a house built for a wolf pack to live in would involve. Not all of that made it into this work, alas. Maybe a tumblr ramble someday.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. i wanna hold your hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: hand injury, heavy implications of very bad parenting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xander watches Father's movements more carefully than usual, the next day. It's impossible, of course, to ever forget Father lives in this house; but usually, this past year or two, it's possible to go days without seeing him, only the evidence of his passing-by. Xander has suspected, but has not been able to confirm, that Father sometimes simply sleeps in his study. </p><p>Possibly, Xander admits, he is being rash. But there will never be a <em>perfect</em> time to see if he can get into the study, especially with Father preferring to go out on business trips as little as possible these days. So his options are to wait for Father to go up to sleep in his bedroom, or to hold out and hope Father goes out sometime in the near future. </p><p>He supposes there isn't a time pressure. No deadline on finding what he can, really, it's only— the questions have gotten inside him, gnawing at his heart and gut. Xander doesn't know how to put them down, not when the other option is the state he'd been in previously, not even noticing he wasn't human. Perhaps he's afraid that if he waits, he'll start to feel that way again? </p><p>He wants to know. He needs to know.</p><p>He doesn't sleep.</p><p>Somewhere around three in the morning, Xander is settled in a window seat with a book he isn't reading, around the corner and down the hall from Father's study. The creak of the door alerts him, and then footsteps, and Xander's heart pounds a staccato rhythm surely unworthy of only Father's movement. </p><p>The shift of wood. The sound of stairs. </p><p>Xander stays precisely where he is, and forces himself to wait a little longer, and a little longer still. In fifteen minutes he marks his page, and rises, and in stocking feet goes to see. </p><p>The study is closed, no red scarf on the door handle. No evidence of Father's passing stays, but Xander goes to the base of the stairs and looks up, and sees no movement. How long is reasonable? </p><p>Best to be safe. He stays close to the wall as he goes up the stairs himself, shifting his weight carefully, carefully. He has been too long in this house for it to creak when he doesn't want it to, and so it doesn't. On the next floor up Xander paces till he can just see the door to the master bedroom. He doesn't go closer. There's a dim light under the door – not bright enough for anything to work by, he thinks, but a sign of presence. </p><p>It's enough. Xander descends again. There's a careful balance to hit, between waiting enough to be certain that Father has settled, and waiting so long that Xander loses his window of opportunity. He doesn't know, after all, if Father has gone up with the intent to sleep. But: for here, and now, Xander has a little bit of time.</p><p>He stands at the study door, and he stares long and hard at the brassy scrollwork of the handle. A door is a simple thing, and yet even like this, even only forming the intent, Xander feels as if he is trespassing, as if he is being watched. He rests one palm flat against the door, bare-handed, and it is cool and still, just as wood should be.</p><p>Inhale. Exhale. Xander shakes himself, and sets hand to metal.</p><p>Anticlimactically, the door sticks. </p><p>If he were not so tense Xander would surely laugh at himself. Little wonder it hasn't been oiled; he doubts Father allows the staff near, either. He tries a little more force, and the handle starts to give. Slowly, ears alert for any too-loud creak, Xander forces it down.</p><p>He hears the sear before he realizes the handle has heated. Pain comes afterward, setting in once he's conscious of it. Xander bites his tongue, yanks his hand back, and he's sure he's left at least a layer of skin behind if not more. There's salt-copper in his mouth and reflexive prickling in the back of his eyes, but he's not going to scream, he <em>can't</em>. </p><p>The door lights up, a lattice of something like sunlight through ice crisscrossing it and reaching upward. Xander has some horrifying thought of magical alarms, flings out his uninjured hand as if he can <em>do</em> anything about that. "No—!" escapes him low and strangled, wholly unintentional. </p><p>It feels like something has left him, like a gutpunch of weight and all of a sudden exhaustion blanketing heavy across his shoulders. The light – whatever it is – pauses. </p><p>Xander doesn't know much, but he knows this much: he needs to go.</p><p>He manages one further thought, moving downstairs at haste with his burnt left hand cradled against his chest. Camilla. He only tried the door, it isn't a vast trespass, he isn't convinced Father will know anything happened at all—  but he had rather be safe. </p><p>Camilla is in her forge, but most of the machinery is quiescent, and she's polishing the body of her motorcycle with a quiet song on her lips. Xander raps at the top of the stairs to get her attention, and she spins, takes him in with a briefly wide-eyed look. "Xander? What's wrong?"</p><p>"It might be a good idea to go for a ride," he says shortly. "Just in case." </p><p>"Just in case... Did something happen?" Camilla starts toward him.</p><p>Xander holds up his free hand, palm-out: stop. She stops. "It might be nothing," he says. "It might be something. Please, just— take some time out of the house."</p><p>"I expect you to keep a line of contact open," she says, a little severely now. "What about you?" </p><p>Until that moment Xander hadn't even realized he had a plan. Now that she asks, it's Ryoma who unfurls in his mind as a source of help if not harbor. He should certainly call Leo again, just to check – maybe Leo will answer this time, maybe Leo will have something to say about protections that could be helpful – but Ryoma is closer, and Ryoma...</p><p>Ryoma isn't someone Xander has to protect. He lets his breath out in a rush. "I have plans," he says, and turns to go.</p><p>"Be careful," Camilla says behind him, all earnest fondness, and behind him Xander hears the sounds of Camilla setting things in order and getting the big door open.</p><p>Xander would be very happy to come home and for this all to be nothing. As he himself heads to his car, brisk, not even bothering with shoes, he one-handedly dials Leo, just in case. </p><p>Voicemail, without any pause for ringing on the way. </p><p>Damn. </p><p>He makes himself at home in the driver's seat, left hand still held gingerly. Some of the pain is going now— Xander thinks that might be a bad sign. The next call, before he starts the car, is to Ryoma. He thinks of the hour only belatedly. He could likely find some place to stay a little while before calling properly—</p><p>Ryoma picks up anyway. "Xander? What is it?" He sounds concerned, and not at all tired. He <em>had</em> once said he kept odd hours. </p><p>"I," Xander starts, and the exhaustion presses him down again, and he barely knows what words to use. </p><p>"Xander?" </p><p>He tries again. "I may have done something foolish," he says. "I'm not sure." There's no need to worry Ryoma further by mentioning the injury. "Would you— or anyone in your family— know of something like magical guards?"</p><p>"Wards," Ryoma says, and Xander can hear his breath hiss out. "Yes, Mother's good with them. Are you safe?" </p><p>Xander honestly doesn't know how to answer that question, and so he doesn't. It's tempting to pitch forward, to rest his head on the steering wheel. That, too, he thinks would be a mistake.</p><p>"<em>Xander</em>. What happened?" </p><p>Again Ryoma's voice breaks the reverie. Xander shakes himself. "I'm not sure," he says again. "Can you— that is, can I— is there somewhere safe I can meet you?" </p><p>"Yes," Ryoma says, immediately, not even stopping to think about it. "Can you get to the rehab center? I can meet you there."</p><p>Xander considers the drive. It's not a short one, but it's not terrible. He flexes his left hand just to test and pain sparks, bright in his palm, behind his eyes. Yes, that's sufficient. He can keep himself awake. "I can get there," he says. "I'm leaving now." </p><p>"As am I. I'll see you soon." </p><p><em>I'll see you soon</em> echoes in Xander's head. He doesn't mean to, but he clings to it, words in a familiar voice and the pain starbursting in his palm, and it keeps him vertical and functional and focused enough on the road that he makes it safely, an eternity and an instant later. </p><p>There's already a car in the gravel lot outside the rehab center, a smaller one Xander absolutely doesn't have the mind to identify right now. He pulls to a sloppy halt and flicks off the ignition, then the lights. For a moment he just sits there, catching his breath, working up the courage to pry his fingers off the steering wheel.</p><p>A tap at the window makes his decision for him. Xander flinches in surprise, jerks up and back – when did he slump forward? – and looks over. Ryoma's there, dim moonlight illuminating half his face and casting deep shadows over the rest of him. What Xander can see speaks loudly of concern. </p><p>Ryoma tugs at the door. Xander remembers, belatedly, to unlock it, and the second time Ryoma gets it open, holds his hand out to offer help. "You don't look well," Ryoma says, quiet but carrying in the still pre-dawn. </p><p>Xander will bet he doesn't. He stares at Ryoma's hand longer than should really be necessary before reaching out, and even then he has to pull his left hand back before he does something unwise. </p><p>As soon as Xander's hand is in his, Ryoma firms up his grip and hauls him up. Xander stumbles on his way out of the car, but he gets standing, though he's not confident in his balance. Surely one burn shouldn't be doing all this to him? He sways briefly on the spot as Ryoma moves around him, taking the keys, locking his car. "It'll be safe enough here," Ryoma says, reassuring, and nudges Xander toward the car he came in. "I'm taking you home with me."</p><p>"Is that... is your family all right with that?" Xander goes where he's steered, and between Ryoma's ginger handling and his own refusal to collapse manages to fold himself into the passenger seat of Ryoma's car. Automatically he cradles his hand against his chest again.</p><p>"I woke Mother before I left," Ryoma says. "She knew this might happen. It will be fine." There's a reassuring calm about him as he settles into the driver's seat. He fiddles for a moment with the center dash – Xander feels a cold breeze stir, and realizes Ryoma's put the AC on <em>and</em> cracked his own window open. They're well into fall, and this isn't a warm area. Something doesn't make sense about that. </p><p>Xander tries to put some modicum of logic on it and can't even come up with a reasonable guess. He lets his head fall back and rests there while Ryoma drives. There's gravel, and then the smoother road for a while; and then something less smooth, some winding side road judging by how many turns he feels. </p><p>"Details can wait," Ryoma says at length, "but if you're hurt, or there might be— trouble—" He breaks off, frowns delicately as if not sure how to phrase what he means to kindly.</p><p>"I don't know," Xander says again, wishing he had something else to add. Then he pauses, reviews that statement, and corrects himself. "My hand is burned. Something did happen, but I'm not certain what, or what repercussions to expect yet, if any."</p><p>"How badly?" </p><p>Xander looks down, grimaces. There's a sort of remove setting in now, but it still hurts when he moves it too much. Detail is hard to see in the dim— except— of course. He has his own light, doesn't he? With some careful fiddling he unhooks his earring. </p><p>The glow he now expects does not appear so much as it fades in, and doesn't brighten, staying low and weak. Like a flashlight almost out of batteries, Xander thinks, and doesn't quite laugh about. This doesn't seem normal. The sun isn't up yet, though. At least it's enough to get a look at his hand, and it isn't charred, only very blistered, and raw where the skin had ripped away earlier. </p><p>He’s regretting a little that he’s growing more comfortable without gloves— except perhaps that this bad a burn might have seared leather to skin instead of protecting. "I don't think it's worse than second-degree," he says finally.</p><p>Ryoma mostly keeps his eyes on the road, but more than a few times Xander catches little darting, sideways glances toward him. "We can at least start to address that. Can you describe what happened?" </p><p>"Mmm." Xander tilts his head back again, eyes drifting closed, and thinks back. It takes some moments to put it all in order, but once he thinks he recalls what happened in precise sequence, he lays it out aloud for Ryoma, from the sudden heat of the door handle to the network of lines like a lattice, like lace or stained glass. The way they'd stopped; the exhaustion that had set in. More hesitantly, Xander backtracks and tacks on the vague impression of being observed. It might be nothing. It probably is nothing.</p><p>Ryoma's quiet for a while after Xander finishes, and then turns them onto yet a narrower trail, this one surely only wide enough to allow passage of one vehicle at a time. This leads to a smallish packed-dirt clearing, with a carport taking up about half of it. Ryoma's car joins two others and a motorized scooter, and in short order he has come around to help Xander out.</p><p>Xander wishes he could say he didn't need it, but he's grateful for the support. </p><p>"There's a short walk," Ryoma says, releasing Xander and stepping back once Xander has his balance. "Just to the front door." </p><p>"I'm fine," Xander says, as a declaration of intent.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't insist on helping him, only stays nearby as they go, along a smaller walking trail with a few solar-powered lights along it. "Mother may know more about what you saw," he says. "It won't be precisely the same, but as I said, she has more than a little experience with wards. If you're not up to it, I can talk it over with her once you're settled." </p><p>Xander doesn't have much to say to that, only nods. He'll take things as they come. First up is the door, some deep brown wood that looks like it's all of one piece, some slab hewn off and only barely sanded down to make it neat. Then there's stone – a great deal of stone in varying shades of gray and blue, lining what would have been a foyer in some houses and here is definitely a mudroom. Coats and boots abound, as well as some pads that look like large brushes mounted at about waist level. </p><p>He's still looking at this last and wondering when Ryoma takes up his good hand to tug him along. Xander isn't clear on whether or not Ryoma tried other means to get his attention first, but as far as guiding tactics go, it's… nice, having the warmth and the contact. Xander follows. It's the easiest thing to do. </p><p>Like Ryoma said, most of the first floor appears to be designed with an entire wolf pack in mind. They move up a flight of stairs at the end of a hall, where the surroundings acquire dark carpeting and colorful walls. It's a house built with the knowledge that dirt is going to happen, and pale colors are few and far between. The result is lively, vibrant where it isn't aggressively natural, and sometimes both at once.</p><p>Xander thinks he likes it.</p><p>Ryoma steers him through the first door on the left, which proves to be a bathroom. The tiling is deep blues and greens all over. Xander picks a point on the wall to stare at instead of the mirror, and as a consequence is mildly surprised when Ryoma takes his other hand and puts it in the sink.</p><p>The cool running water is a shock, but it starts to soothe. Xander is conscious of a throb of pain like a heartbeat, steady and hot. Now he does catch sight of himself in the mirror, and he startles himself with how bad he looks, pale and drawn, a cold sweat standing out across his brow and darkly visible shadows beneath his eyes. </p><p>Ryoma, just beside him, is all warm browns and gentle calm, and shows absolutely no sign that he was rolled out of bed at three in the morning. "Stay here a moment," Ryoma says, nodding to the sink as he steps back. "I need to go and get something, I'll be right back."</p><p>Mutely Xander nods. He's not sure he could argue, right now. </p><p>With Ryoma gone he is intimately, terribly conscious of his place in a strange house some hours before dawn. Before Xander can be drawn too far into that line of thought, however, movement near the door catches his eye in the mirror. </p><p>There's a wolf in the doorway.</p><p>It's not Happy— not Ryoma. This wolf is too light for that, a slight reddish-gray figure lacking Ryoma's thick coat. Something about the long legs and awkwardly sized paws makes Xander think this wolf might be an adolescent, but that still isn't much to go on. Perhaps it's one of Ryoma's siblings. </p><p>"Hello," Xander tries. </p><p>The wolf points their ears at him in what looks like interest, paces across the line of the doorway back and forth and out of sight for a moment. Xander has to twist and look over to see where the size of the mirror cuts off the reflection, finds the wolf with one paw across the threshold and the next lifted as if to step forward.</p><p>On the recognition of being watched, the wolf licks their nose and sits down on the spot instead, ears pointed slightly away and back. Xander is still learning the body language, but if he had to guess this is uncertainty. Nerves. He cannot claim he blames the wolf for such things. </p><p>Perhaps it will help if he doesn't watch. Xander bends his head over the sink and turns attention to his hand. Reddened and blistering, it looks worse under the sharper indoor lights. The water feels like it's helping. If nothing else, it's helped move some of the dead skin that hadn't already been torn away.</p><p>There's the sound of sniffing off to his left. Xander doesn't look, but he can feel a very gentle touch against the side of his knee. </p><p>"Excuse me," Ryoma says politely to the wolf, who backs out of the bathroom and sits down in the hall. He has a jar in one hand which he sets on the counter. "Here. How is it feeling?" </p><p>"Colder," Xander says. He's not sure if it's better, but it's not worse. "I think it's helping." </p><p>"Good." Ryoma pauses, seeming to think about something, and then flicks on another switch next to the light. A fan hums into life, creating a low pull of air movement. "Stay there. Mother knows you're here, but you can talk to her later. Ah— this is my youngest sister, Sakura." </p><p>The wolf in the hall licks her nose again when Xander looks at her, and edges to one side. Xander almost wonders if he's done something to offend.</p><p>"She's a little shy," Ryoma murmurs more softly, as he moves around Xander collecting things. A roll of gauze from the cupboard to the side; a clean towel from the rack. </p><p>Was he that obvious? Xander shakes his head and tries not to look at Sakura directly.</p><p>Ryoma lets Xander stand with his hand in the water for another few minutes, setting things in order while he does, and when he finally turns it off he guides Xander to a seat on the closed toilet. Xander thinks he might never stand up again. Automatically he slumps forward, bracing his weight on his elbows and thighs.</p><p>Absent the cold water, his hand tingles. There's still pain, but it's not so bad as it was, at least for the moment. Ryoma hunkers down in front of Xander, shifting his weight until he settles on one knee, and leans up to take Xander's hand. </p><p>For several moments he simply cradles Xander's injured hand between both his own, palm up, and Xander stares at the top of Ryoma's head and tries to identify if the tightness in his gut is imminent nausea or something else entirely. Ryoma's hands are warm, and each place they touch is an individually identifiable source of heat in a way which has little to do with the burn. </p><p>This is hardly the time, and yet. Xander watches, transfixed, as Ryoma works, from the careful application of a salve he can't quite identify to the subsequent slow wrapping of gauze over his palm. Ryoma's fingers drag across the back of his hand, again and again, and here and there Xander holds his breath, as if anything too loud will make Ryoma stop. It's a foolish, strange thought, but Xander doesn't want to disturb whatever this is, no matter how small the way.</p><p>When Ryoma secures the gauze, Xander is almost disappointed. But he doesn't let go, just turns his face away for the space of a breath or two before looking up at Xander.</p><p>Xander's mouth has gone dry. He's exhausted, his hand still throbs vaguely, he's sitting in an unfamiliar bathroom, and none of that seems to matter in the face of Ryoma's gentle touch and earnest expression. </p><p>"There's a guest room just down the hall," Ryoma says. "You can rest for a while, and we'll be here when you wake up."</p><p>That sounds reasonable. Xander <em>is</em> tired. "All right," he agrees, and makes absolutely no effort to get up. Ryoma's tracing gentle circles just below the wrapping. Xander will give him several hours to stop that. He almost wonders if Ryoma even realizes he's doing it; then he wonders if it even matters. It's nice, to have that soft touch, little as it is. </p><p>Nice might be an insufficient word.</p><p>"Can you stand up?" Ryoma asks eventually, when Xander has been rather obviously not getting up for a while.</p><p>"Possibly," Xander hedges. There's a pleasing fuzziness wrapping around him, stemming from where Ryoma is touching him. His gaze falls to watch the little movements of Ryoma's hands. </p><p>“On your own?” Ryoma tracks where Xander is looking, seems to finally realize what he's doing, and stops, taking his hands from Xander as though he himself had been burned. "Ah. My apologies. I wasn't thinking." </p><p>That is surely the opposite of Xander's desire. "Please," he says. "It's fine. Don't apologize."</p><p>"...very well." Ryoma hesitates, leans in to look up at Xander's face again. "Do you need help?"</p><p>"I might," Xander allows. </p><p>At this Ryoma stands, but it's only so he can move to Xander's side and help him up. Xander leans on him to stand, and Ryoma's arm comes around his waist, light and hesitant. Xander finds he's deeply conscious of the warmth of Ryoma's touch nevertheless, no matter how gentle he is. "It's not far," Ryoma says, reassuring. </p><p>There is still a wolf in the hall. It looks like Sakura, still, though Xander isn't sure he trusts his eyes at this point in the time and will re-evaluate later. She doesn't follow them, at least, only tracks where they're going with the angle of her nose, and Xander loses track of her once Ryoma nudges him along into the guest room.</p><p>The room is blue and purple and there's a bundle of wildflowers tucked into a vase on top of a rough-hewn dresser. The little thoughtfulness of that alone hits Xander harder than he knows what to do with, sets something under his sternum to painful squeezing. </p><p>He's never been so glad to sit down in his life. The bed smells faintly of something woody, something Xander can't quite identify but wants to. Automatically he reaches up to unhook his earring, and the dim glow floods back, weak but present nevertheless. </p><p>It's a reach to put it on the bedside table, but Xander manages. That's about all he's going to manage, he thinks; he doesn't want to worry about clothing right now. Sleeping like this won't hurt him. </p><p>"Do you need anything?" Ryoma asks, hovering solicitously. </p><p>Xander tilts his head back to look at him. He can't think what more he would want. There's a soft bed, the promise of safety. There are any number of things he might wish were different, but there isn't anything Ryoma can do for the fact Xander has nothing to show for his efforts with Father's study. "I think I'm fine," he says.</p><p>"Good." Ryoma lingers briefly, brows knit, but finally turns for the door.</p><p>What Xander wants occurs to him almost too late, a low yearn for warmth finally identified. "—wait," he says, the word out of his mouth before he can think better. "Can you—"</p><p>Now he does catch himself, bites it off. This is purely foolishness. </p><p>But Ryoma has already stopped, paused in the doorway with his hand at the light, turned back to look. "Can I...?"</p><p>There's only open curiosity in his tone. Xander teeters on the balance of desires. "...can you stay?" he asks, barely aloud, and glances away rather than look at Ryoma's face. It's ridiculous. It's only— he remembers the solid warm weight of the wolf who had curled up in his bed before, and he is starting to feel very alone in this unfamiliar place, unsure of what lies ahead. He doesn't know what to do with a house with wolves in the halls, and doesn't know what he'll find when he returns to his own home. </p><p>He doesn't even know if it's an appropriate request to make. But Ryoma has done it before, so surely it can't be too far out of the realm of possibility.</p><p>"Ah," Ryoma says. There's something bright in his voice now. "I— um. I don't know if I should. Are you sure?" </p><p>Xander stares at the pillow. "You've stayed as a wolf before," he says. Carefully, hopefully. </p><p>"Ah," Ryoma says again, more clearly. "Yes. I'll stay. Give me a moment." </p><p>Recalling the difficulties of clothing and wolves, Xander doesn't look at him. The effort of getting under the blankets seems monumental, but is probably worth it. </p><p>The light flicks off as Xander gets the blankets peeled back enough to slip under, and there is a sound of rustling cloth, and then something moving. A weight lands on the bed. </p><p>In the weak light he's still giving off, Xander can see Ryoma's wolf shape clearly enough, vaguely gold around the edges where the glow catches his fur. Ryoma noses at the blankets, as if to make sure Xander is covered, and between Xander's efforts and Ryoma's help it works out. Ryoma flops down beside Xander with a heavy wolfish sigh. </p><p>Xander arranges himself gingerly, sets his head on the pillow and minds his injured hand, and as he drifts off he leans into Ryoma.</p><p>The solidity of him is a relief. Finally, Xander lets himself rest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the description of this arc in my notes includes the phrase "time for family trauma" so, uh, hang on tight. we're about a third of the way through the story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. don't speak her name</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: minor violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma doesn't sleep all that much, despite being utterly contented with his position on Xander's bed. He dozes here and there, but every errant sound rouses him. Sakura has since gone back to bed – he hopes. Mother pauses at the door within the hour, taps lightly and waits. </p><p>That's right. He had meant to talk to her. Lightly Ryoma hops off the bed, and rather than reclaim his clothes immediately drags a blanket off the rack at one wall and drapes it around him for decency. Xander makes some quiet discontented sound and shifts toward the spot where Ryoma was, and Ryoma would return if he could, but he <em>does</em> need to talk to Mother. </p><p>He cracks the door open and eases into the hall. Mother tilts her head at him. "Is all well?" </p><p>Ryoma grimaces. Softly, he relays what Xander told him – of the way he had felt watched, of the lattices of almost-sunlight he had perhaps managed to hold. Mother looks mournfully grim. "Yes," she says quietly. "A visible shift of energy away from the ward—the most likely cause for that is some sort of notification. That man will certainly know by now someone has tried entry, though I could not say if he will know it was his son or not."</p><p>"Xander's injured," Ryoma says. "A burn caused by the ward."</p><p>"It will be safest to proceed as if he knows who it was, then," Mother says with a soft, tired sigh. "This will complicate things. When he is rested, I should speak with him. There's time enough to let him sleep, for now—" She pauses, frowns faintly. "—yes. There is something in the woods, I think, but it is not immediately a problem."</p><p>"Something in the woods?" Ryoma mirrors her frown. There is always something in the woods – such is the nature of the forest – but the way Mother says it implies first that this is something that is not <em>usually</em> in the woods, and second that she does not know precisely what it is. All of these things are unusual.</p><p>"It has a weight," Mother says, "but it is moving, and I don't know precisely where or why. It isn't close. If it becomes close, or manifests an outright hostile intent, I will wake you."</p><p>Ryoma wonders how he's supposed to sleep, with that issue raised. "Thank you," he says. "I'll stay here."</p><p>He can't read Mother's expression, but he thinks it might be soft. "I will see you both later, then," Mother says. She lifts a hand to cup his cheek for a moment, affectionate, and then moves away. Ryoma slips back into the room, dropping the blanket as he shifts into wolf form again. </p><p>With these eyes, the dark is easier to see in. Xander's glow has dimmed as time goes on – Ryoma presumes some measure of tiredness is involved in that change, not to mention the sun which will be slowly creeping toward the horizon somewhere outside the closed curtains. Placing his paws carefully, Ryoma vaults up onto the bed again, occupying the empty space he left.</p><p>Xander seems still asleep; but he sighs softly, and relaxes toward Ryoma. It's gratifying, and heartwarming.</p><p>Ryoma still doesn't know what to make of Xander asking him to stay. At the very least, if there's any comfort he can offer like this, isn't that enough reason? No need to read further into it.</p><p>He dozes again.</p><p>Over the next few hours he drifts in and out, again and again. Footsteps in the hall; Takumi at louder than average volume and subsiding just as quickly; humming, rattling through the wall and setting Ryoma's teeth on edge. At this last he rouses fully, pinning his ears flat back in some effort to dislodge the sound. Is this what Hinoka was hearing? </p><p>Xander slumbers peacefully. Ryoma suspects he isn't hearing it. He hesitates over going to find the source, loath to leave Xander alone when he specifically asked Ryoma to stay, and within a few minutes the problem solves itself, the hum subsiding to something bearable before it slips away entirely.</p><p>The air tastes like storms, like the earth after rain where the lightning smolders. Ryoma sneezes a few times and it does nothing to clear his nose. Licking his nose a few times also does nothing. He gets up, circles on the spot, flops down again. </p><p>Mother said she'd wake him if whatever was in the woods turns into a genuine problem. She hasn't come by yet, and Takumi sounded annoyed earlier, not afraid or truly angry. Everything is fine, for now. </p><p>Ryoma turns his head to check on Xander and finds Xander roused vaguely, sleepy-eyed and rumpled. He yawns, rubs at his eyes with his good hand. "Is... mnh. Something wrong?"</p><p>He doesn't know yet. Carefully, Ryoma shifts his head from side to side, mimicking a human 'no'. Whatever <em>is</em> happening, he doesn't need to concern Xander immediately. </p><p>Xander stares at him some several moments, then nods in return, and slumps back down to the bed, tucking himself up beneath the covers. He still curls toward Ryoma. </p><p>Ryoma allows himself the indulgence of shifting just far enough that he can turn his head and rest his chin on Xander's shoulder. Like this, he can feel the rise and fall of each breath, and it's a soothing, even rhythm, one that lulls agreeably.</p><p>The sleep is light, but peaceable. Above all, it's far too short. Ryoma barely feels like he's been asleep at all when he's awoken for the third time. The windows rattle; his teeth feel like there are sparks in them. He bolts upright, flails as he missteps, and flops off the bed. The air goes out of him.</p><p>Xander startles up too, only a moment after, a confused noise dying in his throat. His glow has faded sometime in the interim, perhaps the sign of the approach of sunrise – it still shows, but only dully, most obvious in the shadows.</p><p>Someone thunders by the door on four legs, then doubles back, batters at the door. Ryoma shifts human and lunges for the pants he discarded earlier, scrabbling into them uncaring of potential audience. When he yanks the door open Hinoka is there, still wolf, hackles raised. She thumps a paw at Ryoma's knee, then turns and goes. </p><p>Behind him Ryoma hears Xander's footsteps. "Is everything all right?" Xander murmurs, sounding half-asleep still.</p><p>"I don't think so," Ryoma says soberly. "I'm going to follow Hinoka. You can stay here, if you'd prefer—"</p><p>"No, I'll come with you. If something is wrong..." Xander trails off. </p><p>Ryoma steps out into the hall, glances both ways. No sign of anyone else immediately, and Hinoka seemed to have been heading toward the stairs. Another tremor runs up through the floor beneath his feet, jars bones and teeth and makes Ryoma want to downshift and bolt. He holds ground.</p><p>"What was that?" Xander sounds as shaken as Ryoma feels.</p><p>"I don't know." Ryoma feels he should have more to offer here. He doesn't. He remembers: wards in Xander's house, and the wards on the pack's house, and what Mother had said. Something in the woods. "This way." Barefoot he strides off down the hall, and hears Xander follow him. He doesn't dare look back – he has seen Xander just roused from sleep before, rumpled and golden, the weary lines that sometimes surface softened kindly. It is a sight he can't be distracted by right now. </p><p>Down the hall, then, and thundering down the stairs. Ryoma takes them two at a time, and the tile of the first floor jars his landing hard and cold. If any fatigue had been lingering, that surely would have done away with it. Around the corner, the short hall opens up into the broader entranceway – mudroom at the far end with Hinoka rumbling at the door, archway to the rest of the first floor opposite it. More than a few times Ryoma has skittered through in wolf-form, barely keeping traction and delighting in the chase, whether he is following or followed.</p><p>Mother comes through the arch, regal and stately despite that her hair is mussed around her shoulders and her clothes are no more elegant than an old flannel dress and a long coat Ryoma knows for a fact was once his father's. "I see our visitor has found a way in," she says grimly, and lifts her chin. "I had hoped it would not come to this."</p><p>Hinoka paces back around, still growling low, and stalks stiff-legged to Mother's side. Xander waits behind Ryoma, uncertain – Ryoma remembers belatedly he didn't have time to put on a shirt. Mother lifts one hand, holds it flat-palmed toward the door. "I give you fair warning," she says, her voice barely lifted but carrying like a thrown knife nevertheless. "You have not been invited. You trespass and strain the bonds of hospitality. If you come with harm, it will be returned to you."</p><p>There's a figure in the mudroom, Ryoma can see now. A figure, and a strange light, and he's starting to think— is it ivy he smells? Ivy doesn't have much of a scent, but there's something green and twisting about the quality of the air. He had thought she meant to wake him if hostile intent manifested – this is rather belated for that. </p><p>"What is..." Xander says quietly behind him, only half a question managed before he stops in bewilderment. </p><p>Ryoma tries to shape a comprehensive answer in a few seconds and comes up with nothing. "Stay behind me," he says instead, since Xander will be ill equipped to deal with anything magical, and then the door slams open.</p><p>The figure stalks through, slow but purposeful. Ryoma assesses. A young man – probably. His shape is difficult to see, obscured by the light that rolls off him and the way space around him seems to warp and waver. In his left hand he holds a great tome, open as though to read it, but with pages that flicker wildly, stirred by a wind Ryoma doesn't feel yet. </p><p>Mother stands straight, her face the picture of calm disapproval. "Do you seek shelter?" she inquires, hands folded before her. Ryoma thinks she might <em>have</em> to ask, that it's one of those peculiar things coded through rules and story. "Speak your intent."</p><p>The figure glances about quickly, a rapid scan of the environs just as Ryoma would do somewhere he was unsure of. The book's pages stop flipping; the figure sets his right hand on the open page, and there is suddenly a weight on Ryoma, pressing down, as if gravity has become twice as heavy. Ryoma staggers, bears up. "Stand aside," the figure says, and Ryoma feels the voice is almost familiar. "Release him."</p><p>"Ryoma—" Xander says, sounding alarmed this time though he cuts himself off. Ryoma hears a sharp in-drawn breath as he struggles to take a step forward, toward the intruder. </p><p>It's Mother that intervenes. She is starting to look less human once more, all impossible edged beauty grounded only by Father's old blue coat. "You are being inexcusably rude," Mother says softly, "and you are <em>not a guest in my house</em>." As words alone, they might sound faintly ridiculous; but there is a weight to the way Mother speaks, as if each word is a stone dropped into a pool. The house itself seems to grow more solid, more real as she speaks, and Ryoma finds he can move more easily again. </p><p>Mother lifts one hand, turns it over, and presses her palm down against the air, intent on the stranger. The warping of space begins to fade; his light begins to dim. </p><p>Ryoma watches, breath held. There is some sort of a struggle evident. The stranger takes a step back. He's more visible now, a young man probably not more than twenty, blond and dark-eyed and furious. His chin comes up and he leans forward, and around the book in his hand there is a darkness as if counterpoint to his light. "Need I be a guest to rescue a hostage?" he demands, all smooth taut anger barely held back. "You will give me my brother back, and release whatever hold you have on him."</p><p><em>Brother</em>, Ryoma thinks, and matches that particular shade of blond and the way he glows; and "<em>Leo</em>," Xander says behind him, sounding startled. </p><p>"That hold is only <em>sanctuary</em>," Mother says, unamused. But the weight of gravity is picking up again, the book's pages fluttering with it. It's some kind of additional power, Ryoma is sure, and he might have further conclusions but for that he's finding it hard to move again. Mother seems unaffected at least by this much. "As a guest I might grant you certain rights. You come as an intruder, attacking me and mine, and as such there remain no rules of hospitality nor engagement. One last warning: <em>stand down</em>."</p><p>Instead of acquiescing, Leo seems to dig in. "If you say your hold is only that of sanctuary, I would have your word on that," he says. "Three times over, if you will."</p><p>Hinoka stiffens just as Ryoma does. That's the phrasing of someone who has more than a passing idea about what Mother is, and that's— dangerous, unchecked. How has Xander's younger brother worked this much out? Who could possibly have told him? The obvious suspect is directly behind Ryoma, but Xander's never been told anywhere near this much of Mother's situation. </p><p>There's scrabbling as of claws on stone coming from the hall. They'll have company and help shortly.</p><p>Mother raises her eyebrows at Leo, displaying remarkable equanimity despite the risk. "Take care," she says. It is the sort of quiet that carries. "You presume much."</p><p>"<em>I know what you are," </em>Leo says, and it sounds like a death knell. </p><p>Ryoma takes a step and finds his body still drags, weighed down by the force Leo's magic is exerting. "<em>Stop</em>," he manages, but it goes unheeded but for a quick, narrow-eyed glance in his direction.</p><p>"You're a creature of your word." Leo turns his head as another wolf comes out of the hall – Takumi, pale and snarling. Leo motions, and the book's pages turn, and vines pry themselves out of the walls to block any further entry. Saizo, wolf shaped and just this side of too far behind, runs directly into these, and Takumi himself is scrabbling for purchase against air turned heavy like water. </p><p>It's hard to tell under the glow and distortions, but Leo seems paler. Perhaps the effort of restraining so many is taxing him. He's certainly still threatening just fine. "You can hardly be otherwise," Leo goes on, "daughter of the line of Nemed— tell me, do you prefer fairy or sídhe? Or did you take your husband's language along with his myths for your own as well, when you murdered him—"</p><p>Mother flinches back, the words more of a blow than any magic could ever be, and she is so terribly <em>human</em> in that moment, Father's coat pulled around her shoulders. </p><p>The only reason Ryoma doesn't start forward is that Hinoka already has.</p><p>Pack is always stronger together, protecting each other, and Hinoka has been pressed against Mother's leg for some several minutes. If Mother could give some blessing of easy passage, she certainly would have. And did. Hinoka's claws scrape stone, and she gathers herself for two great bounds and lunges, snarling fury and aiming for Leo's throat. </p><p>Ryoma's heart seems to drop out of his chest, and for once in his life he hesitates when it comes to pack. In defense of Mother, what wouldn't they do— but this is Xander's brother, and Ryoma knows full well how he himself would be if something happened to Takumi—</p><p>Inconsolable, and furious.</p><p>"<em>Leo</em>," comes sudden-sharp from behind Ryoma. </p><p>Leo's head snaps their way, and it could be a lethal fault but for the magic about him; he has an arm hastily drawn across his body as if that will bar an angry wolf, and Hinoka's strength is still somewhat hampered. Her jaws catch on his forearm instead of his throat – Xander tries to move past Ryoma, and Ryoma flings a hand out almost too slow to stop him, not sure what he's seeing — </p><p>Something comes over Hinoka then, and she lets go, drops on all four feet to the ground, and moves in a quick tight circle around Leo to lean heavily against the backs of his legs. Leo stumbles, catches himself within a step, but some of the pressure in the air eases with his distraction.</p><p>Xander sets a hand on Ryoma's shoulder, and for all that the situation is beyond serious, his touch is still a fever-heat, something that sparks under his skin. "Let me," Xander says, with an odd sort of peace about him. "He will listen to me." </p><p>He is probably correct; and further, probably their best chance to resolve whatever misconception this whole thing is based in without bloodshed. Ryoma puts his arm down, and Xander steps past him, pace calmly brisk. He seems to be suffering no trouble from the bearing-down weight of gravity, whether it's his heritage or some conscious action of Leo's. </p><p>Takumi, still snarling almost uninterrupted, has made it to Mother, and rather than strive toward Leo he offers himself as Mother's support, though he does not put his teeth away. Saizo is gnawing stubbornly at the vines that bar his way; beside him, Kaze has appeared to take a patient knife to them. Hinoka leans away from Leo only so she can drive her shoulder toward the backs of his thighs with her full weight behind it. </p><p>Leo yelps, stumbles forward. He's glowing almost not at all now, and the power about him hitches, starts to dissipate. He makes a good try at drawing it back, pulls himself up straight and bold.</p><p>Then Xander is there. He sets a hand on the book, and Ryoma half-expects some violent reaction. There's nothing for a moment; then all of the light fades, and the book goes quiescent under his touch. Leo shudders, a vast, full-body thing, and Ryoma could not say if he leans in or if Xander reaches out first, but Xander's arms go around him, and all is still and quiet. "I'm fine," Xander says, loud simply because there is no other sound. Even Takumi's growl has subsided. "It isn't her, Leo. It never was. It was always me."</p><p>The book drops to the ground, neatly shut. Ryoma feels abruptly as though he's intruding on some private moment of family, and averts his eyes to check on everyone else. </p><p>Mother is still standing, porcelain-faced and stricken, one hand buried deep in Takumi's ruff, likely for comfort as much to restrain him. Ryoma's shoulders come up a little at recollection of the insult. Kaze has got through most of the vines – those did not dissipate with the rest of Leo's power – and Saizo is squirming through the gap with a grim-faced determination. A human-shaped Kagero with Orochi has gotten through the other way, though she looks rumpled and there are leaves in her hair. Both of them go straight to Mother. </p><p>Hinoka circles around Leo and Xander. Ryoma's still not quite sure what to make of the earlier shift in her demeanor, but she seems more or less fine, if rattled. For several moments she doesn't take her eyes from the König brothers, until she nearly trips over the abandoned book. </p><p>The fur across her shoulders still stands stiff, making her look half again her normal size. Warily Hinoka lowers her nose to sniff at the book – sneezes loudly, as though whatever power is there has gotten right up her nose – and immediately bolts off into the depths of the house.</p><p>Xander murmurs softly to Leo. Ryoma tries not to overhear it, curious though he is. He catches a few things here and there – they seem to be talking about memory. He turns his attention away, and goes to see how Mother is, putting himself between her and the two of them.</p><p>She's recovered herself well enough, and is standing easily though her mouth curves downward with worry. "Is all well?" Ryoma asks softly, half-reaching to offer a hug.</p><p>"It most certainly is <em>not</em>," Orochi says, piqued. "Did you hear what that <em>boy</em>—"</p><p>"It's well enough," Mother interrupts, and allows the hug, leaning against Ryoma's shoulder for the moment. Takumi whines, does a quick circle on the spot and leans in as well, warm and solid against both their sides. Carefully Ryoma wraps his arms around her, head bowed. All scents are correct. "I do not like it; but I suppose I can see where the assumption would be made." </p><p>Ryoma hates to have to ask the next part. "And— the other thing?" he tries gingerly, not anywhere near to graceful talking around it. </p><p>He feels her shake her head. "I don't know," she says. "I thought I felt— something. But there is nothing now to say I have been heard or seen by... anyone."</p><p><em>Anyone</em>, of course, being the reason Mother had had to seek shelter with the pack in the first place. </p><p>"I'll keep a watch," Orochi says comfortingly. She reaches over to pat Mother's shoulder softly. "The cards and I. For the next month at least."</p><p>"I appreciate it," Mother murmurs. Ryoma hears movement behind him, as well, and Mother straightens up, composing herself enough to offer Ryoma the tiniest of smiles. "Shall we approach the matter of diplomacy?"</p><p>There's little other choice. "Someone should go after Hinoka," Ryoma says. "Just to be sure. She didn't seem hurt, but she reacted strangely."</p><p>"Hm." Mother looks down. "Takumi, please go check on your sister."</p><p>His tail flips once, twice, and he looks pointedly past Ryoma at the brothers there.</p><p>"I will not be alone, Takumi," Mother says, a little more gently. Takumi still lingers a little while longer, but finally flips his tail again and trots off to find Hinoka. Orochi settles behind Mother's shoulder, looking regal and ethereally cranky in something purple and terribly fashionable. Kagero has a gift for maintaining a blandly professional face no matter what – which, in this case, is a t-shirt and sweatpants that may or may not have been stolen from Orochi. </p><p>Saizo pads over, Kaze trailing decorously, and Ryoma bends briefly to offer Saizo a greeting. Saizo huffs about this, impatient rather than annoyed, and points his nose past Ryoma, at the current problem.</p><p>When Ryoma turns around again, Xander is waiting. Leo stands behind him, book held to his chest and arms folded over it, and there's a look that's perhaps a little sulky on his pale face. "Is there somewhere we can go more suited to conversation?" Xander inquires. “You have my word, there will be no further hostilities.”</p><p>"My study," Mother says, and tilts her head. "Ryoma, please lead the way. —A moment."</p><p>Ryoma, who had already moved at her word, pauses. Mother moves toward him, carefully slipping out of her coat, and she reaches up to settle it across his shoulders. "Since I don't anticipate you will wish to stop for a shirt," she murmurs, visibly amused in the little space between them.</p><p>She assumes correctly. Ryoma puts his arms through the sleeves of his father's coat, just this side of too big even now, and starts toward Mother's study.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. flood season</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: memory shit (tm), continuing implications of abusive parenting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xander does a lot of thinking in a very short span of time. </p><p>There's a level on which he knows it's Leo, even before the light has subsided enough that he can see a face underneath. Far, far too late he is putting together Leo's concerns of a black widow with Ryoma's mother, widowed not by her hand but by their own father. The hiding of the ranch, which blocked him from Leo's – magical! – senses, put in place by that same woman, and more than likely hiding him here, as well. All of the pieces had been there, and Xander hadn't connected them. Hadn't <em>wanted</em> to connect them.</p><p>Here, watching Leo flip pages without touching them and hold wolves away from him with gravity alone, it is much harder to write it off as talk of role playing or stage illusions. Xander has the peculiar sense of standing a little outside himself, watching the justifications tried and discarded, tried and discarded, until he comes back to the same conclusion he had been forced to before, with Ryoma. </p><p>Magic. Leo truly is bending the laws of physics as humans know them. He and his siblings aren't human. And, Xander admits grimly to himself, he has never <em>wanted</em> to remember that. </p><p>Remembering that, acknowledging it, makes Xander's father a murderer, potentially several times over. It means Father is content for his children to know nothing; it means the marks on Xander's hands could never have been moved by mundane methods. It means, from the beginning, Father was always looking for things Xander could never have given. That this, too, was found wanting, and discarded.</p><p>Though it also means that Ryoma and the wolf are one and the same, and that there is wonder in light and warm affection.</p><p>—Xander needs to talk Leo out of his bad assumptions <em>immediately</em>. </p><p>He strides forward – while he appreciates Ryoma's attempting to keep him safe, in this instance Xander finally knows what he's doing – and once that is handled Xander keeps going, and Leo's power does not stop him. He didn't think it would. The wolf behind Leo helps, so that all Xander has to do is push the book aside and catch.</p><p>He hasn't seen Leo in months. Would that the circumstances were better – but at least, now, they can meet each other on the same level.</p><p>"Xander—?"</p><p>"I'm fine, Leo," he says, starting with the obvious. Immediately Leo is less tense. "It isn't her, Leo. It never was. It was always me."</p><p>Leo eyes Xander suspiciously. "That sounds exactly like what you would say if someone else was affecting your mind," he says, evidently not convinced. But he doesn't pull away from Xander, either: just stands there, stiff and awkward, like he's forgotten how hugs are supposed to work.</p><p>This, too, Xander will suppose is fair. </p><p>Very well, then: time for as much honesty as Xander can muster, given that he's still not <em>completely</em> certain how he got to this point in the first place. "I didn't want to know any of this," he says. "For a long time. Even before I took ownership of the ranch and agreed to the keeping of the land with Ms. Morimoto's conditions.”</p><p>"Xander, you would listen to me and then not remember the entire conversation a day or two later," Leo says. "That's <em>a little more</em> than simple denial. Something or someone has to have been affecting you." </p><p>Xander thinks on that for a moment. If anyone else has magic on him, it would be Leo, or ... Father, perhaps, though Xander is hesitant to think it. "Surely if you can track me, there's also some way to tell if I'm being influenced," Xander tries.</p><p>"That's what I thought," Leo says, "but when I've tried that on you, there's—" He cuts himself off abruptly with a short indrawn breath, then forges ahead again. "There's nothing. I thought I was just looking for the wrong thing, or in the wrong way, but… there's no foreign influence because it's you? Somehow you ... did this to yourself?"</p><p>Apparently so. "I must have, though I don't know how," Xander agrees. "You did say – didn't you? – that each of us shows our power in a different way."</p><p>"That's an exceptionally stupid way to demonstrate power," Leo says; but it's muffled against Xander's shirt, as Leo has by now grudgingly accepted the hug. More quietly, he adds, "...was it that bad? I know you and Camilla always hid things." </p><p>If Leo didn't know everything they hid, Xander supposes it's a sort of success. He hopes they're succeeding better with Elise. </p><p>"There was a time when our family was better," Xander says. He swears there was, that he isn't just tricking himself into thinking this, too. Once, Father had had more warmth to him, even if his approval had been difficult to win and the soft moments far between. There are good memories scattered through his childhood.</p><p>Fewer and fewer, as he grew older. "I think it was easier, believing we were just... normal." Xander's frowning as he tries to pick through this, tries to give Leo some reason for something he himself has only just now begun to pick apart. "If we aren't human, if there is magic, if there is a power in us that most don't have, then... I have to wonder why Father has never told any of us anything." </p><p>"People are easier to use when they're ignorant," Leo says bitterly, and Xander wonders where it came from. What Leo saw, and what he knows. Was it only the viewpoint of others met at college? "If you say there was a time we were more than tools, I will take you at your word, I suppose."</p><p>Would that Xander could have spared him this pain. All he can do now is try not to hold too tightly. </p><p>"There was," Xander says, and at least for the moment he believes it. "I want the chance to talk with you about – all of this. More. But I think we may need to make some apologies first."</p><p>Leo lifts his head and steps back so Xander can get the full force of his pointed grimace. "Even if she's not coercing <em>you</em>—"</p><p>"It was our father." Xander interrupts before Leo can get any further on that. "Our father killed her husband, Leo, and Ms. Morimoto has been kind enough to offer a place to stay after I showed up last night. She's been keeping the land, including the ranch, safe and hard to find. I am well aware you have your suspicions, and that I have not been the most – reliable – but please, trust me here, at least a little."</p><p>As he listens, Xander can see Leo's expression morph, picks out a brief moment of horror before resignation, distaste, the final slide into sulkiness. "I'll hear her out," Leo says. He leans over to pick up the tome he'd been holding earlier, brushes it off and pages through to see that nothing is unduly bent. It's a heavy book, one that looks very old, and while Xander can see words on the pages, they seem to shift and shiver, never staying still long enough to be legible. </p><p>It should be unsettling, but it isn't. There's just an odd, lingering sense of familiarity. </p><p>"Thank you," Xander says, whole-heartedly, and turns.</p><p>The pack is still sorting things out amongst themselves, though Xander notes he has the attention of several before Ryoma finally turns, grave but no less kind in his bearing. </p><p>He's still very, very shirtless. Xander tries not to think about that. "Is there somewhere we can go more suited to conversation?" he asks instead. "You have my word, there will be no further hostilities." </p><p>He can feel Leo's gaze like lasers on the back of his neck. </p><p>"My study," says the woman who surely must be Ryoma's mother, though Xander has never been formally introduced to her. "Ryoma, please lead the way. —A moment." And before Ryoma can go anywhere, she stops him, and hands off the coat she had been wearing to him.</p><p>It fits him better than it had her, and though Xander hasn't seen Ryoma in blue before this shade suits him, and it has the benefit of making Ryoma significantly less distracting. This was, he feels, a wise choice on the whole, though he isn't sure what to make of the knowing look Ms. Morimoto gives him. </p><p>As they go, some of the pack seems to disperse, and Xander catches some curious wolf noses poking around corners as they pass. By the time they reach the study, the group has been reduced to Ryoma, his mother, and the reddish wolf with the scar across his eye, who keeps eying them sidelong and then sneezing. </p><p>Xander isn't sure what to make of the last. Ryoma had been relatively complimentary about his scent. Perhaps it's a matter of opinion? </p><p>The study proves to be a room on the larger side, with broad picture windows taking up much of one wall, and furnished in heavy dark wood. There's a desk that preserves as much of the natural tree as possible in its shape, two solid bookshelves, and a low table with chairs. It's to this last that Ryoma directs them, though there's a quick flicker of a glance to check with his mother first. They array themselves across from each other, the wolf flopping down between Ryoma and his mother, and no one seems to want to break the silence first. </p><p>The coat on Ryoma isn't all the way fastened, and there's a terribly distracting visible strip of skin from collarbone to navel. He would be warm, Xander thinks, recalling the way his fingers had left trails of heat the night before. </p><p>Leo clears his throat. Xander looks away, feeling his face heat a little for having been caught looking. It's all foolishness, anyway. He has enticed enough danger toward this family without also inviting the potential repercussions of a relationship.</p><p>"One thing before we speak of anything else in any detail," Ms. Morimoto says. "I must ask you... hm. Ryoma?" </p><p>Ryoma nods, picks up her request easily. "Do not speak of what Mother is," he says. "It may well be too late for that, but it should be avoided nevertheless. To speak of certain things is to get their attention— there are reasons people applied so many names to her bloodline in the past." He looks uncomfortable even going this far. "Do you have questions on that note? Carefully, if you do."</p><p>"Are you yourself human?" Leo starts, and frowns, and looks down at the wolf. "I had taken them for charmed."</p><p>The wolf yawns, wider and wider till all Xander can see of him is huge white teeth and long pink tongue. At least he knows Ryoma likes him – Ryoma had explicitly told him as much, hadn't he. The rest of the pack, Xander can't say.</p><p>"We are not," Ryoma says, a little dryly. "Myself and all my siblings are wolves. Most of those who live here are; even those who aren't of our blood are part of the pack."</p><p>Leo taps his fingers on the book in his lap, a rhythm of uneven sounds, leather-wood-stone. "A wolf pack, led by—" And then he cuts himself off, obeying their host's request. "How did such a thing come to be?"</p><p>"Introductions first," Ms. Morimoto interrupts quietly. "Would you take food or drink, if it were offered?"</p><p>Leo shakes his head. Xander doesn't immediately share his opinion, but holds his tongue at least for now. Perhaps when they are all more comfortable with each other.</p><p>There is a quick round of names, and it transpires that the wolf between them is named Saizo. "You may as well call me Mikoto," Ms. Morimoto murmurs as a finial, decorous about the way she sets her hand on her knee. "It is safe enough."</p><p>Ryoma doesn't bat an eye at the idea that his mother was not always named this. He takes up Leo's earlier question, instead. "About eighteen years ago, Mother came to the pack lands asking sanctuary," he says.</p><p>"Wait," Leo says. "The pack lands— of course. The nature reserve?" </p><p>A nod. "There's an arrangement with the government," Ryoma says delicately. "We've been here for many generations." He waits a moment, to see if Leo has some further interruption, and then goes on. "Mother brought her newborn daughter with her. I was about ten at the time, so I remember it well enough. Father and Mom welcomed her, and she became part of the pack."</p><p>"Are you all <em>that</em> trusting," Leo says blankly. While he might not have put it so bluntly, Xander tends to agree.</p><p>"There were other factors," Ryoma says.</p><p>Mikoto leans over, touches his elbow with a raised eyebrow. Ryoma shakes his head minutely. Mikoto sighs. "It is part of the wolf's makeup," she says. "They are people of balance. As human intelligence serves the wolf form, so do wolf instincts serve the human form. My husband said he could tell as soon as he scented me, that it was correct that I should be part of the pack. Ikona liked to say she had noticed it first, and had been polite enough not to say anything that might be too forward for a first meeting."</p><p>They both look warm, wistful instead of pained at the mention of people long dead. "Father wrestled a bear to impress you," Ryoma murmurs, a faint smile tucked into the corners of his mouth.</p><p>"Ikona told him how stupid it was," Mikoto rejoins, "but I always rather got the impression she was annoyed she hadn't thought of it first."</p><p>Ryoma laughs quietly, and his attention comes back to Leo. "You aren't wrong, though," he says, sobering. "Father <em>was</em> too trusting. Mom died maybe a year after Mother came to us. We don't... really know why. It was some kind of sickness, and we always thought it was just mundane, but I wonder now, knowing your family isn't human yourselves."</p><p>"You think Garon," Leo says, a half-finished sentence. "Xander said he murdered your father."</p><p>When had Leo stopped calling him Father? </p><p>Ryoma dips his head in a slow nod of assent. "That much we're sure of," he says. "Before then, Father had considered Garon a friend, of sorts. They had spent time together. We knew his scent well enough that we could pick it up on Father's body."</p><p>Xander slants a quick glance sideways, to see how Leo is taking it. Leo looks grey-pale, grim and tired. "Your father," Leo says. Stops. Starts. "There's a— pelt. In Garon's study—"</p><p>Ryoma's already shaking his head no. "Not Father's," he says. "Don't worry about that."</p><p>Leo looks a little more at ease. "Father liked to hunt," Xander puts in, for a more complete picture. "My... hope is that it is only that of an ordinary wolf's." And even that much turns his stomach over, now. </p><p>Saizo picks his head up, a growl rumbling low in his throat. Both Ryoma and Mikoto completely ignore this, acting as if it is only natural to have a family friend growling on the floor between them.</p><p>"That was about fifteen years ago," Ryoma says, laying the timeline out. "Father was killed in wolf form, and scent isn't acceptable evidence in any human courts, last I checked. At the same time, Mother's daughter was kidnapped – she was about three at the time. We looked for her, but never found anything. Many of us began to assume she must be dead as well." </p><p>"Three," Leo mutters, and eyes Mikoto. "—Corrin. She's yours, isn't she."</p><p>Xander loves his brother even as he envies that speed of processing. What must it be like, having accepted all this and worked within it for years? </p><p>Mikoto nods, passes her sleeve across her eyes. "She is."</p><p>Leo nods. "She looks like you," he says. "I didn't see it earlier, but I wasn't looking, either." He's quiet for several moments, fingers tap-tap-tapping again. "I made a bad assumption. I was looking only at the timing of your marriage compared to your husband's death, and I thought you were enchanting my brother."</p><p>It isn't an apology, not quite, but for Leo it's very close to one. Mikoto tilts her head a little as she regards him. "I have gone to great lengths to hide myself," she says. "I am... impressed you figured anything out."</p><p>"I learned to look at absences," Leo says. "Things that weren't there. And Xander asked my advice on signing that contract about the ranch. He's never been able to remember anything I tell him about magic. Of course, he says now that's his <em>own</em> fault—" This is a tart jab accompanied by a brotherly eyeroll.</p><p>"I cannot see anyone else whose fault it could be," Xander says. "I did not want to believe, so I didn't. To be honest, I'm still having trouble with some of this." He's been quiet, trying just to process. He had barely got his mind wrapped around the werewolves and his own heritage, and now wards and sídhe and enchantments are all being added to the list. It feels a lot like treading water; and he can feel, too, the temptation to just step away from it all, to say this is his imagination, or that they're speaking of a particularly involved fictional scenario.</p><p>If this is real and true, then something has to be done about his father. Xander needs to face him, somehow.</p><p>All the same, he does owe Leo an apology.</p><p>"No, I see it now," Leo says. He motions vaguely at Xander, then taps his book. "I think that's why I never saw anything explicitly magical from you, you bent it all in on yourself and didn't realize you were doing it."</p><p>"Except," Xander says, and stops. He's thinking back to the venture with Father's study last night, how those faint traceries of light had stopped when he told them to, and how exhausted he'd been after.</p><p>"Except?" Leo nudges him.</p><p>Xander realizes he'd stopped talking. "I did something last night," he says. "I tried to get into Father's study."</p><p>"<em>Xander</em>." Leo groans with a sort of dread. "What happened?"</p><p>He offers his burnt hand. "I think whatever ward he had was going to alert him," Xander goes on, as Leo frowns at the injury and turns Xander's hand this way and that. "I— stopped it. For a little while, at least. I don't know how, or if it lasted. I left right after."</p><p>Leo's grip tightens convulsively, and Xander winces as he's reminded that the burns are not at all healed. "Camilla?" </p><p>"I told her to go for a ride," Xander says. "She said she would. I don't know after that."</p><p>"Well, she's not stupid," Leo allows graciously. <em>Like you</em> goes affectionately unsaid. "Give her a call when we're done here."</p><p>"Can't you track her?" Xander knows Leo has been tracking him, now and again, and it is almost certainly magical in nature.</p><p>Leo slumps back into his chair. "No," he says. It would be sulky if they were alone. "Camilla doesn't work the same way. If we're sunlight, she's moonlight. Or lava."</p><p>Mikoto clears her throat gently, and Leo and Xander focus on her again. "If you need privacy, we can provide a room," she says. "I would like to discuss working together toward the return of my daughter, or—" She pauses. Xander thinks it may be a fight to master herself. "At least offering her the opportunity," Mikoto manages, some few breaths later. "I am aware it is your family who has brought her up, and I would hate to part her from her family—"</p><p>"A chance to know her is more than fair," Leo says. "You have to know Garon's going to be a problem."</p><p>"I have known this for fifteen years," Mikoto says. </p><p>Leo makes a face. "He's a shitty father," he says bluntly. "I don't care what happens to him, as long as my brother and sisters are safe."</p><p>Xander is distantly aware of all the air going out of him. He and Camilla have only ever vaguely talked around this, and that but the once. To hear Leo say it so plainly is – new.</p><p>It's terrifying and freeing all at once.</p><p>Everyone is looking at him now, and Xander has the passing thought that his expression may look more stricken than he thought it did. "...what is it?"</p><p>"I'd like to take you up on that offer of a private room," Leo says, ignoring the question and addressing Mikoto directly. "I assume, even if Garon notices something's wrong at home, it'll be hard for anything to happen here."</p><p>Mikoto nods. "You've tested the wards yourself," she points out.</p><p>Leo twitches only a bit. "So I have," he agrees. "Fine. I need to talk to my brother before we can agree to anything."</p><p>"That's fine," she says. "I'll show you back to the room Xander has been using. And arrange for food, if that's acceptable."</p><p>"Thank you," Xander says, a little distantly. </p><p>"Don't thank me," Mikoto says, not unkindly. "If you have further questions, Ryoma or I can answer. There will be a wolf near your room— not to listen, only to guard. Please feel free to ward the room yourself, if it won't interfere with any existing I have placed."</p><p>"It's appreciated," Leo says smoothly, standing. "We'll speak of this later, then."</p><p>Xander still feels a bit dazed, outside himself— but he follows them away, and he only has to drag his lingering gaze away from Ryoma once.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. mint warfare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With Mother gone, Ryoma remembers belatedly he's still wearing the coat. He strips out of it carefully, folds it and lays it over the back of Mother's usual chair at her desk. </p><p>Saizo stands, stretches, and considers Ryoma. If there were anything truly urgent to note, Ryoma trusts that Saizo would shift to tell him about it, though potentially with a pause to arrange for decency. Their house is well stocked in extra clothes from room to room, at least. </p><p>But there's nothing. Saizo flickers his ears at the movement of nearby people, and finally turns and goes, leaving Ryoma to contemplate. </p><p>That stricken look on Xander's face had been terrible. While Ryoma can guess, more or less, at what might have created it, that still did nothing to assuage his want to hold Xander till that look went away. There's a part of him that still wants to do that – even to just return to where they were in bed, Xander leaning heavy against his fur and beginning to calm in sleep. </p><p>Mother had been kind enough to talk around the scent-bond once she established Ryoma hadn't explicated it in full. It truly is on his list of things to mention to Xander, it simply hadn't seemed appropriate at any time in the immediate recent past – not least because it's Ryoma's problem. </p><p>He can't do anything about it right now, either. It will come up later, he's sure. </p><p>Without being sure which room Mother has shown Leo and Xander to, Ryoma opts to head back to his room, drop off sweatpants and drag a yukata off his stack of easy clothing. As a wolf he takes this gently in his teeth and heads off to track Hinoka down – he hadn't seen Takumi come back, and he's a little concerned about her, and this is a concrete action he can take in the interim.</p><p>He ranges the entire house before he catches her scent near one of the doors. It's harder to negotiate the pull-rope with cloth in his mouth already, but Ryoma manages – mostly, it must be said, out of stubbornness – and heads outside. He doesn't think Hinoka would have gone very far, with this sort of apparent threat so recent, so it's worth checking the immediate area.</p><p>She's not in the greenhouse or the open garden. Ryoma finally finds her in the undergrowth behind the greenhouse, dressed in old oversized clothes and ripping up mint by the roots. She's not careful about it, and every tug crushes and tears the leaves, filling the air with the strong familiar scent.</p><p>Ryoma sneezes. He can't help himself, it's really very strong – this close it obliterates practically everything else. </p><p>"Everyone's a critic," Hinoka grumbles, pitching a few balled-up errant mint leaves at him.</p><p>Ryoma steps a little aside to shift, pulling cloth around him with quick efficiency. It leaves him on bare feet as he makes his way over to Hinoka, and he winces at every poking rock, but gamely continues on. It would not be the first time. "Did Takumi find you?"</p><p>"I told him I'm fine." Hinoka tears up another runner, ambitiously long for the size of the plant it's connected to. "He went off back to the house, I think he objected to the smell. Ugh, I don't think I could kill this if I tried, the roots go forever. How much is enough?"</p><p>"How much is enough for what?" Ryoma asks, hunkering down next to her. The upturned earth <em>should</em> smell good, rich and inviting and full of potential, but mostly everything in the immediate vicinity just smells of mint.</p><p>She pauses, fingers tangled in mint leaves, and gives him a sidelong exasperated look. "To break a scent-bond. I didn't stop biting him for my health."</p><p>Ah. Ryoma adjusts his posture to sit properly, since he may well be here for a while. "I suspect you have more than enough," he says. "It's half symbolic, I think. You're sure?"</p><p> Hinoka rolls her eyes expressively at him. "I don't <em>care</em>," she says, forcefully. "At worst the bond just snapped into place so I wouldn't start another blood feud by eating him, and doesn't actually mean anything for me and him. At best, it's pointing me at someone I don't know and don't have any reason to care about. So— no. I'm opting out."</p><p>Ryoma raises a hand carefully – peace. "I understand," he says. He doesn't remind her that he began with Xander the same way, that he is sure it's more than that now. She knows that already, and he is sure enough that Hinoka isn't judging his own choices in turn. His siblings have each made it clear enough, in their own way, that they'll work with his choices no matter which way he picks.</p><p>"...good," Hinoka says, mollified, as if she'd been expecting a harder fight. She settles down a little, putting her shoulders down from where she'd hiked them up. "Fine. Good."</p><p>He gives her a minute to rip up some more mint. It seems, at this point, therapeutic, and mint is hardy like that. He's not particularly worried for its health. "Have you visited the biohazard portion of the greenhouse yet?" he asks, more dryly than he really means to.</p><p>"Not yet." Tug. Tug. Rip. "It's probably unfriendly to give him poison flowers. Thought I should probably find a good containment to give him first.” Hinoka's lip is curling anyway. "Ugh."</p><p>"I believe a sachet is traditional," Ryoma says, and, "We can probably use one of the ones from the woolens." Lavender, it turns out, is stronger against moths than it is against wolves, but it won't hurt to have that lingering scent in the mix, either. "If it helps, he seems reasonable when he's not jumping to conclusions in defense of his brother?"</p><p>Hinoka's mouth twitches before she smooths it out. If she <em>were</em> interested, Ryoma suspects, it would be a good sign, someone that protective of their family, their pack. </p><p>He has not gotten this far as an older brother by not knowing when to shut his mouth.</p><p>"Still don't care," Hinoka says after a moment. She takes her hands out of the dirt and the mint runners, and starts collecting a few of the best and least crushed leaves in one cupped hand. "I court on my terms. If I <em>was</em> going to date him, it wouldn't be for listening to ancient wolf magic that wants me to think with my pants."</p><p>Ryoma can admit Hinoka has a point, but it still feels vaguely insulting. "I am perfectly capable of thinking with my head around Xander," he says with great dignity.</p><p>Hinoka reaches over, pats his shoulder, and then shoves a handful of crumpled mint leaves and dirt down the back of his yukata before he's processed that she has anything more benign than sisterly consolation on the mind. "Keep cracking the window," she advises, and gets to her feet as Ryoma is rolling his shoulders to dislodge the debris. </p><p>She's halfway back to the greenhouse by the time Ryoma gives up on this particular endeavor and shifts back to wolf. Like this he can scramble out of the yukata and shake wildly, enthusiastically, sending dirt and leaves and fur flying. He'd like to stop and roll around, but not in the middle of the mint— it's about to make him sneeze. He snags the cloth in his jaws and lopes after Hinoka.</p><p>Magnanimously, she holds the door for him.</p><p>Ryoma prances inside, shoves the much-abused yukata off into a corner, and then keeps following at a healthy distance, stopping halfway down the row of plants. Hinoka's headed for the back corner of the greenhouse, the little cordoned-off corner where the not strictly benign plants grow. Among other things, there's aconite there for just such a purpose as today has necessitated. Hinoka takes heavy gloves, squares her shoulders, and strides in wielding clippers with determined precision.</p><p>She re-emerges a few minutes later with three flowers in a plastic bag, pauses only to add the mint from earlier and shake them around a bit. Ryoma stretches long and luxuriously while he waits for her to reach him again, and when she does he falls into step with her. There's a certain delight to be found in the simple accompaniment of family, and it's better than alternatives right now. </p><p>He follows her to the first-floor linen closet, where she rustles around and finds nothing useful, then up to the second, and the heavy cedar chests that usually store woolens oversummer, and currently stand empty. In the bottom strewn about are the usual sachets of lavender, some mingled with cloves or rosemary for good measure. Ryoma puts his paws up on the edge and cranes his neck to sniff around – yes, they're still plenty potent. </p><p>Courteously he makes sure to sneeze on Hinoka.</p><p>"Ew," she says obligingly, and shoves him off. "Okay, yeah, I think this'll work." </p><p>Hinoka empties one of the sachets, spilling its contents carelessly into the bottom of the chest, and takes it and her stash of scent-breaking plants off to the nearest bathroom. Ryoma loiters in the doorway, refusing to enter any further, but supervising pointedly as Hinoka transfers aconite blossoms into the bottom of the little cloth bag, then mint leaves in after, each one firmly creased to let loose the fresh scent.</p><p>She's just tying it off firmly when her entire body seems to twitch. Hinoka puts down the sachet and swipes a hand past her ear, scowling fiercely. "Not this <em>again</em>," she snaps, and bends forward to hand-washing with a furious sort of efficiency. </p><p>It takes Ryoma a moment to draw the connection to the humming noise she'd woken him to complain of some little while ago. Sachet in hand, Hinoka storms out of the bathroom and back down to the music room. Ryoma tails her faithfully the whole way, right down to where she jerks open the door to the music room and surveys the shadows and unlit instruments with a suspicious eye. "What can <em>possibly</em> be making that noise."</p><p>Nothing volunteers for Hinoka's ire. Ryoma ventures into the room, sniffing about. There hadn't been anything the last time, but it's possible there'll be a difference this time. It isn't four in the morning this time, after all, and there recently has been magical disturbance. It stands to reason that if something were to change, it might have.</p><p>The drum kit is uninteresting, and the black cases for the instruments that see the most common use bear only the comforting mix of pack scents that tends to permeate the house anyway. Ryoma shoves his nose into corners, into stacks of music books, finally half-heartedly at the glass case with the old traditional instruments in it.</p><p>It shocks him. Ryoma startles back, fur on end, and eyes the case. One tall instrument, one long and broad – the tall one is a shamisen, he thinks, but he can't summon the name for the other at the moment. Neither of them <em>look</em> particularly suspicious, nor is there any familiar draw or yearning or sense of home and pack like he might expect from something of the wolves. Tentatively Ryoma presses his nose to the glass.</p><p>For his troubles he receives another brisk shock of static. Ryoma puts his ears back and turns away, moving out of the room. Slowly. At his own pace. He's not being chased out by a display case with static problems. </p><p>Usually static doesn't trouble Ryoma. It hasn't since he was thirteen.</p><p>In the hall again he shakes himself, settling his fur, and tilts his head back to look at Hinoka. She frowns down at him. "Anything?"</p><p>He moves his head from side to side, no. He'll explain further when he has a human mouth.</p><p>Hinoka raises her shoulders uncomfortably, pokes at her ears. Then: "Dammit, I left it in the bathroom. Come on." </p><p>She has the same hunched, hunted air all the way back up to where they were, where Ryoma takes advantage of a towel to preserve everyone's sensibilities and reaches over to cover Hinoka's ears again. She sighs, settles. "That fixed it for now," she says, a little too loud.</p><p>Ryoma secures his towel more carefully. "Let me know if it happens again," he says. "I couldn't find anything specific, but there's something strange. Did you ever ask Mother about it, last time?"</p><p>Hinoka looks aside in a way Ryoma is well aware means no, she did not. "It had stopped, so I didn’t bother," she says, and picks up the sachet she'd forgotten earlier, holding it at arm's length. It's got an impressive scent Ryoma would like to be nowhere near. "I'll ask her this time. And what she thinks of the music room. Just— not now, okay? It's a lot, and this is just a weird thing that's only bothering me. Corrin's more important."</p><p>"If anyone else starts hearing things, you say something immediately." </p><p>"All right. That's reasonable, I guess." Hinoka winces, making a very obvious face at the sachet of mint and wolfsbane. "Yeah, this'll work. Stinks. Think if I leave this outside his door with a note he'll take it?"</p><p>Ryoma doubts it, given how suspicious Leo was earlier. "They're probably both still talking," he says. "You can deliver it when everyone meets again?"</p><p>She sighs, which Ryoma takes to mean yes. "I can rustle up a long cord in the mean time," she says, and turns to go. </p><p>Ryoma watches her leave, and once she has gone shifts back to wolf, which is more comfortable and less cold right now. He worries about her, a little, but she has always known her own mind. She'll be fine. </p><p>Any worry about the humming, about Xander, about his own bond and the uncertain future, Ryoma buries in checking on the rest of the pack.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hinoka has opinions. Very pointed ones.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. my brother's hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: past hand injury, past murder, past abuse of a child, Garon's A++ parenting, memory magic, mild past homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mikoto shows them to the guest room. The bed is still as rumpled as it had been when Xander was in it, and there's only the vaguest of lights through the heavy window-shade – they must have slept through much of the day, and then consumed all but a little daylight in the aborted fight. "I'll send someone up with food," Mikoto says, "and if you need something, one of the pack will be nearby."</p><p>Xander knows it is as much to watch them as it is to provide for their needs, and despite that – perhaps partly because of it – he is reassured. Leo looks less approving, but at least he hasn't said anything, and his face only creases slightly as the door closes behind them.</p><p>In the resulting stillness, Xander doesn't know quite what to do. He glances around at the wildflowers, the shades, the bed. Leo. </p><p>Leo has both his arms around the book, as if hugging it to his chest. He makes a brief horseshoe-loop around the room, curtailed from a full circle by the bed, and finally in the absence of chairs he climbs onto the bed to sit with his back against the headboard. The book falls open across his knees.</p><p>"What <em>is</em> that book?" Xander wants to know, now that they're in a situation where he has half a chance of getting an answer out of Leo. </p><p>"Brynhildr," Leo says absently, as if that answers everything. It doesn't— but it almost does, something buried rising partially in response in the back of Xander's head. Leo reads the warping text aloud then, enunciating slowly and carefully. It's a language Xander doesn't know, but he likes the sound of it.</p><p>A light rises up from Leo, like it's coming from under his skin, and the scent of green and growing things becomes strong enough even Xander can practically taste it. The two things wrap around each other, around Leo, and then burst outward, past Xander to hit the walls of the room; and then there's nothing left, only the book still gently weighting the space around it, and Leo looking grayer than he had been. He tilts his head back to rest it against solid wood, eyes closed. </p><p>He still has too tight a hold of the book to be sleeping. Xander drifts closer, sits on the end of the bed. He tries to do it gently enough that the new weight doesn't disrupt Leo, but he's out of luck. Leo's eyes slit open, watching. </p><p>Brynhildr doesn't sound quite right. Xander picks at that, no matter how easy it is to write off as just a dialectical difference. "Brunhild," he tries, a few moments later. "You mentioned the name before. As part of the story of... Siegfried?" </p><p>"Yes." Leo lifts one hand to rub his eyes, and straightens up just a little. "Do you remember anything else about that conversation?" </p><p>"I remember you told me to be careful," Xander says. This part comes without hesitation; it's the thing that lingered, that his brother was worried about him. He's slow about the rest. "We must have spoken of Mikoto at least a little. And..." His brow furrows. "A sword." </p><p>"Close enough," Leo says, though he's grudging about it. "What I want to know is how you figured all this out, finally. What did I miss?"</p><p>"Ryoma told me about his family." Xander manages the faintest of wry smiles. "He prefaced the discussion by approaching me as a wolf and turning into a human. It was... difficult to deny."</p><p>"We <em>glow</em>, Xander," Leo says tartly, and he closes Brynhildr and sets it to the side, leaning forward. "Let me see your hands."</p><p>Xander offers the injured one, thinking that's what Leo wants. "We've always been that way," he says, though he knows it's little excuse. "It just... <em>is</em>. For a while I barely noticed it."</p><p>"Hmph." Leo snags the offered hand, gentler than he had been earlier, and Xander submits as Leo turns it this way and that, picking at the dressings only enough to peer beneath. "You would think lighting up like a flashlight every night would get a little more notice." </p><p>Or, Xander thinks, perhaps his brother telling him there was something wrong should have borne more weight. "Leo," he says, at first helpless. There's not much he can say to make it better, that he never really heard what his brother was trying to tell him about all this. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"I know." Leo sighs, beckons for the other hand. "Don't martyr yourself any further. It makes a certain amount of sense, I suppose. I've always been your brother, and you've always glowed, isn't that so? The way you were looking at Ryoma, on the other hand..."</p><p>Xander gives over his right hand as well, not really questioning it until he feels Leo's inquisitive touch pulling his curved fingers open, baring his palm. It's only Leo – and yet – Xander goes still and statue-frozen anyway. "...what <em>is</em> this?" Leo says distantly, and looks up at Xander with a little frown between his brows.</p><p>"I had a birthmark," Xander says automatically, and stops, because it feels slippery in the way of excuses. </p><p>"I meant the scarring."</p><p>It isn't so bad, Xander thinks when he can finally make himself focus on it. Mostly it's just that the skin on his palm, especially where the mark had been darkest originally, is a little shiny, a little off-tone. There was only ever a blade involved once, and that didn't leave a lasting scar… no, it was twice, wasn’t it. He has learned the word ‘excoriate’ that day, and still tries not to think about it. Xander has spent some not insignificant time over his life being diligent about stretching and salves. He hasn't lost range of motion, but he's less sensitive, and of course it looks a little off.</p><p>He can't make himself say the exact words to tell Leo all of this. He turns his hand instead, angles it so Leo will see the twisted remnants of the mark, in the curve between thumb and forefinger. "I don't think I always had it," Xander says, as Leo takes over and tilts and turns to get a better-lit look at the shape of it. "I think it appeared, one day, but I forgot that it had ever not been there."</p><p>"Mmhm." Absent acknowledgement from Leo. "Any idea when?"</p><p>Xander has to think about that one, but: it had been after his father gave up teaching him about hunting. "Thirteen or fourteen," he says eventually. </p><p>"And this was Garon, wasn't it." Leo taps one of the shinier patches of skin. </p><p>He can't seem to make himself say the words. Xander nods instead. "Something about the mark bothered Father," he says, stepping around the edges of the mountain between them. "I don't know what. He could never... It never went away, not all the way."</p><p>Leo hums another thoughtful note, and picks up Xander's other hand. "Can I undo this?" he asks, hovering lightly over the bandaging on Xander's palm. "Just for a moment. I need to see something."</p><p>Xander's confused, but couldn't tell his brother no if he wanted to. "I don't mind," he says. "Why?"</p><p>Leo bends his head and works carefully. Freeing the bandaging tugs a little unpleasantly, but the burns beneath don't look as bad as they might have. "If he couldn't get rid of it, then it wasn't part of your skin," he explains as he works. "Say I have a piece of paper with a drawing on it. If I tear the paper in half, you'd expect the drawing to be torn in half too, right? Or if I soak it in water, then the drawing will warp as the paper does. Maybe the ink will bleed. If the drawing stays in one piece, or moves, or otherwise isn't affected by the forces acting on the paper, then either it wasn't <em>really</em> on the paper to begin with, or it's... something else. Not a drawing." Leo sets the gauze aside, studies Xander's left hand. "Hm. Have you noticed this?"</p><p>Xander looks where Leo indicates. He's unsurprised, he finds, to note that there's a similar mark in a similar place, as though half the original mark migrated to his other hand. "I must have," he says, when he realizes Leo is waiting for an answer. "But it was dismissible."</p><p>Leo crosses Xander's wrists over each other peremptorily, compares the marks beside each other. "If you put them back together," he says slowly, "I think it would be a sword. Can you— here." </p><p>Obligingly Xander lets Leo rearrange his hands some more. This time he curves Xander's right hand as if to hold something. It changes the shape of the mark a little; it's easier to see, like this, that it's half a sword. "<em>Huh</em>," Leo says, with feeling, and lets go. "I think I understand."</p><p>That makes one of them. "What is it?"</p><p>"Remember I mentioned Siegfried," Leo says, picking up the gauze to loop carefully around Xander's left hand again. "It's a sword that's supposed to be passed down in our family. Brynhildr has a page about it. I haven't seen one that looks like it in our house, so either it's somewhere in Garon's study, or it's... with you, somehow." He huffs, a little defensive. "I don't know how. It's not a perfect theory."</p><p>Ryoma had said something, too, about a magic passed down in the blood. "If the mark is Siegfried..." Xander trails off. What if it is? He doesn't know what then. It's never felt strange or special, only drawn Father's attention in ways Xander wished it wouldn't. </p><p>"If there's power in it, you've probably ignored it," Leo says, knotting the gauze loosely and sitting back. "I wouldn't be surprised. I'm more interested in why Garon hated it so much." And then he grimaces, shakes his head. "All this time... I should have noticed something."</p><p>No, he shouldn't have. "Even if you had, what would you have done?" Xander says. "You weren't very old when— when Father started to change." Even now, even here, he stumbles over the words. "It's better that you didn't see anything of this." He'd looked after himself very carefully, and very privately, for a reason. There's some half-formed thought – even if he had disappointed as a son, there was no reason Leo ever should – certainly better if any issue Father has is with Xander instead. </p><p>"How can you still call him Father?" It bursts out of Leo in a rush, startling both of them – Leo colors very faintly, high across his cheekbones, and pulls back. "I just mean— he's been worse to you than he has to any of us, and I <em>know</em> Camilla didn't have an 'accident' in her forge. Camilla doesn't <em>have</em> accidents."</p><p>"It isn't that bad," Xander demurs. Leo has always been sharp, sometimes too much so for his own good. </p><p>"You don't have to protect me any more," Leo says, steadier now. He leans forward again, elbows braced on his knees, a certain sort of intensity about him. Beside him Brynhildr rustles faintly without being touched. "I have income streams Garon can't touch, and Brynhildr protects me from anything else. Everything at the university is in my name by now. The only reason I'm still here is I can't leave the rest of you. I could support Corrin too – or her blood family here can," he amends belatedly, like he almost forgot. "And she's already eighteen. I know you have a fallback, and I'm pretty sure Camilla does too— she wouldn't have to use Garon as a middle-man. There might be some trouble reconnecting with clients, but she <em>could</em>. The only sticking point is Elise. We might be able to get her emancipated if we can show her schooling's paid the rest of the way through... If we wanted to appoint you as a guardian, we'd have to prove Garon's incompetent or unsuitable, and that could turn nasty in court."</p><p>Xander turns his hand over, as if hiding the scars will make them exist less. He supposes he doesn't have any proof that it was Father who made them, but even the accusation might be a start. Of course, if that failed – if they started that process and Father kept Elise anyway – it might well turn out worse. He couldn't bear that.</p><p>Leo might have a point. How does he still call someone like this Father?</p><p>"Father was different, once," Xander says, beginning to step around answering Leo's question. "I think... he was happy when Camilla was born. I still remember there were times when he was proud of me." It seems precious little, boiled down to those few words. But Xander remembers how Father had smiled, small but deep, when Xander had done something especially worthy, pushed through his early anxieties and come out the other side living up to Father's expectations. The world could have turned on his father's approval.</p><p>It had dwindled, as time went. Xander had never blamed his siblings for that— it wasn't the split of Father's attention, not that way. In the end he can't point to one occasion, one turning point, that would have marked where Father changed and why.</p><p>Father had just… grown cold.</p><p>"I don't care that he was different," Leo says. He looks away from Xander, with the particular twist of his mouth that Xander knows means he is trying to master himself. "I <em>don't</em>. I'm sorry he still means something to you. But he's hurt you, and he's hurt Camilla, and the only reason Elise and Corrin and I are fine is that you and Camilla have been putting yourselves in the way. He could die tomorrow and I wouldn't care."</p><p>"<em>Leo</em>," Xander says, and regrets his sharpness immediately. Leo's saying all this out of love, one way or another, and if this is the only way he knows how to show it, then who is there to blame? Xander thinks he can count Father's hugs between his two hands, and there might be fingers left over. </p><p>"What?" The color flames high on Leo's face now, more of anger than embarrassment. He forges onward, heedless. "He had my mother killed, you know. I can't prove anything, the man he hired died when I tried to get a statement from him. Arete disappeared – I don't know if she's dead, but after this long I doubt she's alive. I'd assumed he'd killed your mother too—"</p><p>"Mother was ill," Xander interrupts firmly, but Leo's instilled a seed of doubt: how many poisons might look like illness, especially over a long period? </p><p>No. Mother had divorced Father, and wasn't in a position where he could poison her. It couldn't be. "Arete?" he adds, frowning slightly.</p><p>"Garon's second wife," Leo reminds him. "I wouldn't be surprised if you don't remember her, given everything – she never lived with us. She was his mistress for a year at most, and nearly right after he trapped her into full-on marriage she vanished. I don't think she was human, either."</p><p>Now that the memory is jogged, Xander can tug up vague impressions of a chilly, remote woman, all over blue and silver. Even in memory she's hard to look at, and in a different manner than Xander is accustomed to. The image slips away again almost as soon as he has hold of it, leaving only the idea that he had it once. "What was she?" he wonders aloud.</p><p>"I don't know," Leo says, nettled. "Something hard to see. I keep forgetting what she looked like, but I have it written down somewhere. That's not the point. My <em>point</em> is that Garon is a terrible person. —look, do you remember when you asked me to look up your ex-boyfriend?"</p><p>Xander nods, a little hesitant only because he's not sure where Leo's going with this. The man in question was the second person Xander had dated – he had left perhaps six months into the relationship, when Xander had started to consider possible futures. He hadn't heard anything at all: one day there had simply been no answer. Ghosted, he thinks the term is. Even then, Leo had been better than any of them at finding information and getting around systems that he strictly shouldn't have access to. So Xander had asked.</p><p>"And you remember Garon paid him off to leave you," Leo says, only half a question. It's a fair ask, given how much Xander has accidentally misplaced in his memory. He nods again. </p><p>"That makes this a little easier," Leo mutters, and goes on. "I kept tabs on him just in case. He died about a year and half after you first asked. Car accident. On its own that might not be all that suspicious, <em>but</em>. Your first girlfriend also died around that exact same time, like Garon was going back to finish the job.“ Xander flinches. He hadn't known that. Leo must have been trying to protect him. "And I don't need to tell you what time that was," Leo says, merciless. "The fire—"</p><p>Leo does not need to remind Xander. A year and a half after that second breakup would have been the time Xander realized it wasn't safe to date, at all. He'd come downstairs to breakfast, already unusual for Father joining them; and Father had handed him a newspaper. The headline had been about a disastrous fire which had tragically claimed the life of a local dancer, and how fortunate it was that the fire hadn't spread further, but how sad a tale—</p><p>Xander had dropped the paper, he remembers, when he saw the portrait of the deceased: he'd been dating him. "How senseless," Father had said, with a terrible sort of calm. "You have my sympathies, of course. But perhaps it's for the best you won't have the distraction any more. Don't you agree, Xander?"</p><p>He had been numb the rest of that day. </p><p>He remembers— for a moment, just a moment, he had been utterly certain Father had somehow been responsible, that Father had decided he couldn't have an heir who was distracted or gay or in love— </p><p>He had put it away, as he put everything else away; but he had never dated anyone else, either.</p><p>Xander drops his head into his hands and focuses on breathing. How many people have died just because he wanted to court them?</p><p>"Oh—" He hears Leo's breath hiss out, and then the bed dips, the blankets shift as Leo scoots toward him, puts a ginger hand on his shoulder. "It's not your <em>fault</em>, Xander, that's my point. Up until that point, it was a textbook abuse tactic. Bribing your other partners to leave you meant you wouldn't have anyone else to lean on but us, and Garon. Even if you <em>could</em> have predicted he'd escalate to murder, that's still not your fault. You think you have to protect everyone, don't you."</p><p>It takes Xander a few moments to make sense of his own emotions, to string together the words for them. "If I have the ability," he says, "if I'm in the position to prevent harm from coming to someone else, then I should."</p><p>"That doesn't mean you have to be omniscient." Leo sighs, and edges a little closer still. His knee bumps Xander's, stays there. "You're right that he's changed. He used to be more cautious."</p><p>This does not reassure. "If he knows I tried to get into his study," Xander says, as tightly controlled as he can. "Do you think— no. He wouldn't take it out on Elise, and he can't reach Corrin."</p><p>"Still, probably for the best you sent Camilla away," Leo says grimly. "I can send word to Corrin's school and make up some kind of a threat, and I'll go and get Elise, just to be safe. If he's angry, he may cool off in a few days, but then we should look at options for Elise. This won't be tenable."</p><p>It's terrifying, even if Xander isn't going to admit to it where Leo can hear. The idea of stepping outside of Father's influence, of standing independent and free. It's hopeful, something to reach for and wish for: but it's unlike anything Xander's ever known. Even the ranch and the horses and all that joy live, to some extent, in the shadow of dread.</p><p>"I can go back to the house," Xander offers. It makes a certain amount of sense. If Father is angry, it'll be with Xander, and when that blows over they will have some space to act.</p><p>He lifts his head in time to see Leo go furiously white. "<em>Absolutely not</em>," Leo says. "If <em>anyone</em> goes back, it will be me, and it will be to <em>kill him</em>. You are not to throw yourself on the altar like a damned martyr, do you understand? You've protected us enough, Xander, and you're not doing anything alone."</p><p>Despite that Leo has just expressed a significant desire for patricide, Xander has never loved him more. Wordless he reaches out to tug Leo toward him. </p><p>It's awkward, but Leo goes, topples toward him with his face mashed into Xander's shoulder, one arm flung out for balance and the other precariously around Xander. "Ugh," Leo says, and, "You can't change my mind by hugging me, you know."</p><p>In quiet retaliation Xander ruffles his hair, and Leo subsides for a solid minute at least.</p><p>Leo pushes back gently when he's had enough, and Xander doesn't argue about it. "How do you plan to get to Elise?" he says instead, addressing the practical.</p><p>"I'll rent a car," Leo says. "After we've talked to Mikoto again."</p><p>"I don't think you should be driving," Xander says. Leo still looks too pale. Brynhildr probably requires energy to use. "Perhaps some member of the pack can help instead."</p><p>"If they would." Leo shifts uncomfortably. "Frankly, we don't have much to offer this whole relationship except ambiguous future favors. Corrin isn't a bargaining chip, and unless you plan to make doe eyes at Ryoma—"</p><p>"I promised him I would look to see if Father has something of his father's," Xander interrupts, before Leo can go – anywhere – with that. Has he been so obvious about looking? "...it isn't much."</p><p>"Then it may have to be Corrin." Leo frowns, obviously starting to plot. </p><p>Xander holds up a hand. "Let me talk to Ryoma," he says. "He may be able to advise as to his mother's state of mind, or have some idea what would be helpful to... offer. In the mean time, I think you should rest as much as you can."</p><p>Leo eyes him suspiciously. "I don't need to rest," he says.</p><p>"Even if you don't need to, there is no harm in taking some," Xander says, which is better than calling out Leo on lying to him about exhaustion. "Rest – eat when the food comes – and then we can act."</p><p>Grudgingly, Leo nods. Xander gets up and stretches out the crick in his back before he goes, thinking about next steps and lightheaded with possibility. He steps out into the hall, turning the light off behind him as he goes, and hopes Leo will actually sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next chapter is actually also Xander's POV, for once breaking the pattern; it needed to be separate for, uh, tone reasons. </p><p>And definitely not because I'm trying to keep to precisely 69 chapters, nope.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. downwind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Outside the room Xander realizes belatedly he doesn't know where to <em>find</em> Ryoma. Still, Mikoto had said there'd be a wolf nearby. And there is, lying down sphinx-like and staring at the end of the hall, the eye-scar clear enough from this distance to tell Xander this is Saizo. Unless Saizo has an identical twin.</p><p>Cautiously Xander moves that way. "Pardon me," he says, intending to be as polite as he knows how to be. "If I wanted to speak with Ryoma, would you be able to direct me?"</p><p>Saizo appears to consider this. He gets up, stretches long and luxurious with his paws out before him, and yawns pointedly. </p><p>Xander isn't sure how to take this. He's read that yawns can be a sign of nervousness, but it rather feels like Saizo is trying to make sure every single one of his teeth is displayed. </p><p>But before any further conversation, or lack thereof, can take place, Saizo's ears prick up, and he looks to his left, around the corner Xander can't see. A few moments after Hinoka comes around the corner, absently skirting around Saizo. There's something held tight in one of her hands, and her chin is tucked, her focus down, such that she doesn't immediately seem to see Xander. </p><p>Saizo whuffs low and quiet about the same time Xander says "Ms. Mo— ah. Hinoka?" She had said to call her that, hadn't she?</p><p>Hinoka's gaze jerks up, and she's wide-eyed for a moment before settling, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably. "...Hey," she says, waving her free hand vaguely. "Thought you'd still be in your room. Kaze said he'd bring the food up when it's done, shouldn't be too long..."</p><p>She trails off. Xander wonders if she's avoiding something. He hadn't precisely asked, after all. "Is everything all right?" he asks, hesitating over the question only a little.</p><p>Hinoka sighs explosively. "Sure," she says, "Sure, just. Um. Can you do me a favor?" </p><p>"What is it?" Leo has been very firm on trade, and also Xander has his own sisters. A favor may be anything from painted nails to holding wire for a soldering iron.</p><p>She scrunches up her face briefly, then shoves the clutched thing toward him. Somewhere behind her Saizo makes another, slightly more disgruntled sound. "Can you give this to your brother?" Hinoka says, all in a rush.</p><p>Gingerly Xander takes it from her. It's a purple sachet, maybe palm-sized, knotted tidily closed. There's a strong scent of mint, and something else Xander certainly doesn't have the nose to identify. As a gift for Leo, it makes little sense. "What is it?"</p><p>Hinoka rubs at her nose as if to dislodge a scent. "Mostly wild mint," she says, clearly evading. "I'd appreciate it if he could hold onto it for about a week. It's not gonna hurt him, promise. Though, uh, maybe don't eat it?"</p><p>This doesn't clarify a great deal. Xander can conclude that Hinoka wouldn't jeopardize the relations between their families at this stage, and that she seems perhaps embarrassed about something, and also that Leo, being both suspicious and magically inclined, will be able to spot if anything is indeed off. It might be rude to press. Eventually Xander settles on pointing out, "He may wish to have some things clarified."</p><p>"That's fine," Hinoka says hastily. "Just as long as he's got that."</p><p>Xander looks the sachet over again, full of questions, and tucks it into his pocket. "...very well," he says, at a loss. "Have you seen Ryoma, recently? I'd like to talk to him."</p><p>Hinoka's eyes go very round. "You can't," she says.</p><p>Xander frowns faintly. —well, it wouldn't be out of the question for Ryoma to be sleeping, he supposes. "May I ask why?"</p><p>She gestures, vaguely but possibly in the direction of his pocket. "I mean," she says. "You can, he's up in his room, but you can't take that <em>with</em> you, Ryoma'd be—" She cuts herself off, and frowns a little. "He has this sad face that's just— terrible."</p><p>He has certainly missed something. Xander begins to feel as though they have been having two different conversations; or as if Hinoka assumes he knows something which he does not. He tugs the sachet back out of his pocket, eying it more dubiously this time. "I think I would like you to explain in more detail now, please," he says, firm for all that he's being polite. If this is something that would make Ryoma sad, it's something he's not going to foist on his brother unknowing.</p><p>Hinoka makes some distant frustrated growl under her breath. "Wild mint's a strong scent," she says shortly, "and the other thing in there is wolf's bane. I don't really have all the theory, but it's like— it's got a weight because people believe that and call it that, right? It's a thing that's not good for wolves. So together it's an anti-wolf scent."</p><p>Xander still feels he's missing something, but that makes some modicum better sense. He sniffs cautiously at the sachet, just to test, but he can't find anything but mint. "Is this because you tried to bite him earlier?" he asks. He's assuming the wiry reddish wolf was Hinoka.</p><p>"Sort of," Hinoka says. "It's because I didn't actually manage to, I guess. The short form is that he smells really nice to me and only me, and I don't want him to. This will fix that. And it's fine for him to carry it around, but not for you, because Ryoma actually likes the way you smell to him, and doesn't want that to change."</p><p>"...I smell different to him?" Xander says blankly. He remembers well enough how Ryoma had described his scent, and definitely that it had been in rather flattering terms. </p><p>"Yeah." Hinoka wrinkles her nose again. "You just kind of smell like dirt to me. You'd be better off asking him about it, honestly. Ryoma knows more about why these things happen, and it's a conversation for the two of you, really." She pauses, hastily backtracks. "Nice dirt! I mean nice dirt. You know, the really rich good stuff that plants get happy about."</p><p>"I... see." Xander is not, in fact, sure that he sees, but it may be kinder to Hinoka to let it slide, and get answers from Ryoma. "Well, I suppose I <em>was</em> looking to speak with Ryoma anyway."</p><p>"Right," Hinoka says, with some relief. "If you want to drop that off first, I can show you where Ryoma's room is."</p><p>"All right." Xander turns to do just that. Hinoka follows him at a middling distance, though it’s near enough Xander can still feel her regard between his shoulder blades. He eases back into the room – Leo, sprawled on the bed and not even under blankets, stirs blearily. Xander moves in only far enough to toss the peculiar little sachet on one of the bedside tables, and then backs out, closing the door gently.</p><p>Hinoka is shifting from foot to foot a few feet away. "Ready?" she says.</p><p>Xander nods. Now it's his turn to follow her, trying not to loom – she is muscular, and has a certain bright presence that makes her seem to take up twice as much space, but he's finding she doesn't come far past his shoulder. </p><p>She leads him up a floor, past at least one other wolf, to a closed door like any other. With barely a pause Hinoka pounds at the door, lifts her voice to holler "Clothes!" like it's a long familiar order. </p><p>There's a heavy thump. "I <em>know</em>," comes Ryoma's muffled voice. He sounds as irritated as Xander has ever heard him. "Hold on."</p><p>Xander wonders if Ryoma often needs to be reminded, and just as quickly as he has wondered that decides it would be inappropriate to ask. He waits, holds himself still even as Hinoka rocks up onto the balls of her feet and back down again. In a few moments, Ryoma opens his door. </p><p>His hair is loose and rumpled, falling long and luxurious over his shoulder, and he's only barely bothered with clothes, something like a brightly colored cotton robe cinched in at the waist. The way it falls reveals – oh, a great deal of skin. Xander feels his face heating. Valiantly he tries and fails to control that.</p><p>"<em>See you later</em>," Hinoka says hurriedly, and removes herself from between them, moving just this side of too slow to be running. </p><p>"Hinoka—!" Ryoma tries, but she's already gone. He takes a distractingly deep breath – sighs – smiles at Xander. "Is there something I can help with?"</p><p>For a perilous moment Xander finds himself tongue-tied, unable to muster words. His gaze drifts downward. But he recovers, and meets Ryoma's eyes again, and nods. "There were a few things I wanted to speak with you about, if you have the time."</p><p>"Of course," Ryoma says, without hesitation, and steps back. "Come in, it's as good a place as any."</p><p>Ryoma's bedroom is a minefield of a different sort, but Xander can't think of anywhere else he would rather go. He follows at Ryoma's invitation, and nudges the door most of the way to closing behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. unchaperoned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>content notes: lighter mentions of the past abusive parenting</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All he can think at first is that if he'd known Xander would be there, he would have been more careful about dressing. Ryoma tugs his yukata in a little better than the lazy effort he'd made at first, and gestures at his desk chair as he moves to let Xander into the room. There aren't a lot of seating options – bed, single chair, floor – and Xander sitting on Ryoma's bed would make the rest of the conversation utterly impossible to focus on. Ryoma leans up over his bed to tug the window open, inhales cool sharp air before settling down.</p><p>Xander sits. Ryoma watches him, and remembers a few moments later about words. "What did you want to speak to me about?" </p><p>"To begin with..." Xander hesitates, and Ryoma couldn't fathom why. He waits, as patiently as he can, and finally Xander starts laying things out, bit by bit. "Leo is making sure all of our sisters are safe. Elise is at a school a few hours from here, so getting there will require driving, but he is uncertain about asking for help."</p><p>Somehow Ryoma isn't entirely surprised by this. "Are you asking, then?" he prompts gently, when Xander falls quiet.</p><p>Xander still sounds hesitant, as he picks his way through words. "I would be worried about depending too much on you," he says after another few moments, "especially as Leo is insistent that an exchange or some sort of bargain between our families should be carefully handled. I don't precisely understand where that comes from."</p><p>Ryoma thinks about it, trying to focus more on the problem than on the weight of Xander's presence here, just across the space from him. Accounting for that Leo knows what Mother is, well— it explains some things. "He's working off stories, I think," Ryoma speculates. "And he isn't entirely wrong, or wouldn't be if the situation was normal. But there are two dimensions that he may not have taken into account." </p><p>It's an odd game of telephone, Ryoma supposes, but better this than that they all expect something different of each other and never speak of it. "First, of course, is— well." He needs to contextualize this, but carefully. "Mother is good at guarding things, and hiding things, but before the events of fifteen years ago, we all assumed that all that needed to be hidden was her bloodline." Mother, and Corrin, folded in among the pack as if they had always been there. It was sufficient, until it wasn't. "Since then, her wards have been constant; but there is a certain toll demanded to keep the land and those on it safe and concealed, and that was the easiest of the options to guard the pack. Mother has been tired for fifteen years, to say the least." This is more than he should really say, if he is honest. He bites his tongue a moment, re-assessing what needs to be communicated and what can pass by. "It is true that deals must be precisely made, but suffice to say, the idea of – being able to put those wards down – is a more compelling one than your brother has calculated."</p><p>"...I see, I think." Xander looks troubled, in the way his eyes drift downward, his fingers lace together in his lap. "What was the other dimension?" </p><p>"Asking Mother for help, and asking me for help, are two different things," Ryoma says, and this is unrestrained, incautious for no caution is necessary. "Whatever strictures she is bound by, I am not. If you wanted, for instance, to go and retrieve your sister, it would be a simple enough thing to do." </p><p>Xander's gaze lifts again, catches on Ryoma's. "I will... keep that option in reserve," Xander says slowly. </p><p>Ryoma loses track of his breath for a few moments, just for the weight of Xander's regard on him. It's Ryoma who has to turn his face away first, just to abate some of the tension. He hasn't the slightest idea what's going on in Xander's head, what he's thinking through and hesitating over. </p><p>He'd certainly like to, though.</p><p>When Xander finally starts again, it almost startles Ryoma. He turns his eyes back toward Xander. "...It will not be comfortable," Xander says, "but please be as honest as you can. Do you see any way forward that does not necessitate ... removing my father from the picture, somehow?"</p><p>It's the blandest possible phrasing he can put to 'dead, incapacitated, or permanently incarcerated.' Ryoma doesn't blame him. </p><p>There's really no good way to answer, however. At least Xander was aware up front it would not be a comfortable tack for the conversation. Ryoma comes at it sideways anyway. "You called me in the middle of the night, injured and afraid," he says. Too much has been taken for gentle, but he tries for it anyway, doesn’t quite hit the mark. Ryoma bites his tongue, counts to four, draws a deep breath, and starts over. "He has murdered and kidnapped, and that counts only the crimes with which we are intimately familiar. It does not... have to be death, if some other means can stop him; but there is not a wolf among us who does not want justice. And both you and your brother are acting as though your father is a true threat. You would not be so quick to go and get your sister if you did not truly believe there some risk to her safety, yes?"</p><p>Preferring not to inundate Xander too much further, Ryoma pauses there, inviting response, giving Xander time to work through it. There is a fine crease between his brows, and his eyes are downcast again, and Ryoma's heart aches more than a little. There's nothing he can do about this, really. What could possibly make such a betrayal, from one's own family, any better? </p><p>"That's true," Xander finally allows, without looking up. "There is... I mean. I feel. Afraid. Before I even remember the reasons why, there is simply... dread. That I have gone against my father's wishes, and surely upset him."</p><p>Such kind phrasing, for how he had sounded earlier. Ryoma swallows a growl half-formed. Humans do not rip out people's throats with their teeth, he reminds himself. Usually. And his enemy is not here. Here is only the sun-warmed earth of home. </p><p>"Such a simple thing should not be cause for fear," Ryoma says with his human words, a moment or two later, when there is still silence in the space between them, and he trusts his voice not to disappear. </p><p>"Perhaps it should not," Xander agrees. All at once he sounds exhausted. He leans forward, rests his head in his hands briefly. Ryoma studies the blond top of his head, the way faint curls shift with the movement. Then, quite abruptly, Xander straightens up, focused on Ryoma. "What about you? Were you never afraid of your father?" </p><p>Such a question. Ryoma can only shake his head at first, barely even conceiving of the alternative. "I remember," he says for a start, and then has to pause again as he picks his way through memories. "Father was— very tall." He's sure Father can't have been as tall as he seems in Ryoma's recollections, for Ryoma had yet to put on his own height; but his image of Father that lingers is a towering, broad man with a laugh like a joyous flock of crows. "Even as a wolf, when I had first shifted he was practically twice my size, and he was often loud. But he was kind, too; when I made mistakes he showed me how not to. Had I gone somewhere he'd told me not to, I would probably have been scolded, and tossed into the hall— but that would be the sum of it. I was never afraid of him."</p><p>Xander doesn't answer this for a long time, focus seemingly turned inward, and Ryoma begins to wonder if he should give him some privacy, or at least look away again, as if he is not bearing witness to this disassembling. But before Ryoma can act on that Xander nods, slowly, tugging idly at the trailing end of the gauze on his left hand. "I know there was a time when," he says, haltingly, nearly breaking off. "When Father was proud of me. Or brought Camilla a hairclip just because it was her favorite color. But Elise and Corrin barely even know him, and Leo..."</p><p>Leo, Ryoma thinks, had rather made his opinions quite plain earlier. They are not those of a son with much love for his father.</p><p>"But?" Ryoma prompts, rather thinking that's what comes next.</p><p>"...but that was a long time ago," Xander says. He covers his eyes with his bandaged hand; his shoulders rise and fall with the force of deep breaths. "Thank you. I— even knowing what I know, I could barely admit it to myself."</p><p>Ryoma can't honestly imagine the horror of the realizations, nor how far he might bend for something like this not to be true. All he can do, he supposes, is support. "I'm happy to help," he says, an easy platitude that he nevertheless means sincerely. Xander puts his hand down and offers Ryoma a tiny smile, tired but warm. For another moment Ryoma can't think.</p><p>He recovers himself mostly by noticing the bandaged hand again. "How is the burn?"</p><p>"Hm?" Xander looks at it as if only just now remembering it, carefully flexes and bends his hand, grimacing as he does. "Not as bad as it was, but—" Another brief hesitation, a darted look at Ryoma. "If I might make further use of that salve?"</p><p>"Please. We have more than enough." Bathroom. The bathroom might be safer than the bedroom, especially with Xander looking wounded and tired. Some part of Ryoma is continually longing, now, to soothe such things away with warmth and closeness, and he can't tell how much of it is the scent-bond. Certainly he still needs to turn his face into the wind on occasion, but it's nowhere near the first hammer-blow of desire it had been.</p><p>"Which way?" Xander inquires, slowly getting to his feet.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't want him to leave, either, and accordingly he himself rises. "Let me show you."</p><p>His own room isn't on the same floor as the guest room, so it's a little bit of a trek, over and down with Xander on his heels, a constant heartbeat of a presence just behind him. In the bathroom where he'd left the jar of Sakura's salve, Ryoma flicks on lights and, with some regret, the fan, letting the low hum sink into the background as it begins to move air for him.</p><p>"Huh," Xander says, somewhere behind him. Ryoma retrieves salve from the drawer and closes it, moving aside to make room, and Xander leans against the counter with his back to the mirror. His gaze is thoughtful on the ceiling vent for a moment. "Is that why..."</p><p>"Let me see your hand," Ryoma says, and tilts his head in curiosity at Xander. "Is that why what?"</p><p>Xander offers his left hand, palm-up; it takes him an additional few seconds to look at Ryoma. "Ah. Hinoka said something unusual regarding my... scent."</p><p>Ryoma's pulse spikes, thundering for a moment with the panic of potentially having to explain this <em>now</em>. "She did, did she," he says, distantly. </p><p>"She said, if I recall correctly, that I... smell better to you?" Xander says, with the cautious reserve of someone who is not sure if he is being rude. "And that I should not carry the herbs she wanted me to give to Leo, or you would be sad." His expression, when Ryoma looks up, seems truly just earnest curiosity. "I would prefer to understand that, so I do not misstep."</p><p>It's a fair request, and Ryoma had known he would have to say something – eventually. He hadn't thought eventually would look like now.</p><p>"...It's called a scent-bond, for lack of a better term," Ryoma says, taking Xander's hand carefully and bending his head over the work. Slowly he unwinds the gauze. "It's what happens when the wolf part of our instincts feels strongly enough to override certain human parts. A person who would make a good… ah, partner, for one reason or another, suddenly smells like the best thing in the world."</p><p>"When we first met," Xander says, realizing.</p><p>Ryoma nods. His hair falls over his shoulder; he takes a moment to shove it back, out of his way. "If I seemed a little tongue-tied, that is why. It was overwhelming, at first." That's putting it lightly, perhaps. "I'm more used to it now."</p><p>"Then the fan is only a precaution?"</p><p>Ryoma doesn't know what to make of the concern in Xander's voice. Which one of them is he concerned for? "Don't worry," he says, trying for soothing. "At the worst, I'll be overwhelmed enough to shift and angle for you to pet me. The wolf part of me is simply less reserved than the human."</p><p>"You've been very polite as a wolf," Xander says, and, a little dryly, "For the most part." Ryoma wants to hear fondness there and doesn't know if it's wishful thinking.</p><p>"I know I shouldn't have, truthfully," Ryoma murmurs. Revealed, the burn already looks better than it had. Better, he thinks, than it should look after only one day. This he ascribes to some combination of whatever Xander is and the hard work Sakura has put into the plants and her studies. "You did say you weren't interested in a long-term relationship, and I meant – <em>mean</em> – to respect that. It was harder to resist simply being near you, as a wolf."</p><p>He reaches for the salve, regretting only that he has to let go for a moment to get it open. Xander keeps his hand almost precisely where it was, waiting, and gives it over again easily to Ryoma's ministrations. "If I recall correctly, you said you couldn't do anything casual," Xander says. "Is that related?"</p><p>Ryoma shifts his shoulders. "If we— ah— consummated the relationship, the bond would be permanent," he says. Focus: the cool of the salve, the warmth of Xander's palm. "For me. There are a few benefits— Your scent would be less overwhelming and more grounding, you would be easier for me to find, a few other assorted things that make best sense to wolves— but I wouldn't want another person, likely ever. There have been rare instances of relationships with multiple facets, but that could hardly be guaranteed."</p><p>"That doesn't sound like a very fair bond," Xander says. Ryoma can't honestly get an idea of the present emotions from his voice alone, and he doesn't precisely want to look up at the moment. "But your sister said..."</p><p>"I prefer to keep it. Yes." Another little bit of salve, for thorough coverage. "Even if this is all there is. You're under no obligation, and I'm not suffering." Ryoma says this firmly, eyes fixed on a point on the counter just to the side of Xander's hip. "Independent of all this, I've come to like you. A great deal." If this all must be said, he is saying it <em>all</em>, before Xander can make a partial decision. Ryoma rambles ahead, almost incapable now of stopping. "The bond made me look, that's all. If you were open to it, I should like to date you, for a start. Among other things. But I am perfectly capable of remaining simply— your friend." He means it, he truly does. It wouldn't be his preference; but he can, if that is all there is.</p><p>He's really done quite enough with the salve. Ryoma grows conscious of the fact he is still holding Xander's hand, and lets go so he can close the salve. Fresh gauze will be in the drawer.</p><p>At his reach, Xander shifts a little to the side. "You could not have been – under the influence – when we texted, or emailed," Xander says, slow and thoughtful.</p><p>Ryoma tries not to hope. It's bad timing, anyway. "It was also easier outside," he says, hedging. "I am still the same person, regardless of wolf or human, scent or clear wind. It is only that sometimes my reservations are rather lower than I mean them to be." He manages a wry smile, flashed in Xander's general direction, and closes the drawer again, gauze in hand. "I truly am sorry. I didn't want you to need to worry about this— it's my problem, and mine alone. I'll abide by your wishes."</p><p>It was one of the things Father <em>had</em> managed to impart, before his death, in that fleeting conversation about puberty, sex, and the many and varied changes a werewolf's body might go through. Between wolves was one thing, where all was understood and equal. Out-pack, they must be careful, emotionally and physically.</p><p>"Even should I wish to break the bond?" Xander's tone is terribly, horribly neutral.</p><p>Ryoma shudders, a quick bristling down his whole body he can't entirely help, and wishes he could. "Even then," he says. Some seeping misery makes its way into his voice despite his best efforts. "I might avoid you for some time – as a matter of scents – but the pack would still be willing to help." His hands on the gauze, unwinding and preparing, go still. He hasn't reached for Xander's hand again yet.</p><p>He's being a terrible coward about this, and he knows it. "Let me just... finish this," he says, opting for the easier obstacle.</p><p>Xander offers his hand. Ryoma sets to work. His breath catches over every little brush of skin, and he tries not to let his fingertips linger inappropriately.</p><p>The silence presses in, leaving only heartbeat and fan-hum and the sound of Xander's breathing, until Ryoma is almost done. Xander speaks again, quiet but carrying. "The reason I said I wasn't looking for anything long-term," Xander says. There's another one of those careful hesitations, where he is either unsure of himself or unsure of the reception of his words. "It wasn't... that is, personally speaking, I would be amenable. To dating. I have abstained save for some few unattached liaisons since Father made it clear the distraction was... undesirable."</p><p>That could mean any number of things. Ryoma tucks the ends in and straightens in a hurry, concern spurring him where fear had stayed him before. "Undesirable?" he echoes.</p><p>Xander looks pained, in the creases at the corners of his eyes. "Previous partners were bribed to cut contact. And worse. I would not wish to bring you misfortune. ...Further misfortune."</p><p>They stand there, Ryoma and the son of his father's murderer, fully conscious of what isn't said. Ryoma almost wants to laugh with the desperate irony of it, manages somehow to contain himself. "I can protect myself," he says, once that urge is gone. "There are Mother's wards and my teeth and the rest of the pack. And you said it yourself, after all: there is, I think, no version of our way forward that does not – take care of – your father's influence. So— what would you do? If it were only you, not worried about anyone else? Not trying to protect anyone else?"</p><p>Xander hesitates.</p><p>Ryoma catalogues sensations to curb his impatience – the warmth of Xander's body where he stands too close for propriety, the background sound of the fan, the press of the tiles under his bare feet, the ever-present scent of cedar and sun-warmed earth hiding any lower tones of soap and salve. The bright glint of the overhead light off the near-gold of Xander's hair.</p><p>Xander says, "This," and leans forward, removing all distance between them.</p><p>His mouth is warm on Ryoma's, soft and sweet and lingering. Ryoma can't quite put words to what's happening at first, stands stunned till Xander's good hand curves gently against his neck, thumb pressing gentle at the corner of his jaw. Oh. <em>Oh.</em></p><p>Too soon Xander pulls back a space, a faint frown taking up his face again as he studies Ryoma. Before he can get any nonsense ideas about whether or not Ryoma approves of this course of action, Ryoma follows him, leans in and kisses Xander again. It's just as delightful the second time – perhaps more so, now that he's not quite so stunned. He lands little feather-touches of kisses, quick and light, till Xander provides some firmness in return; and then there is nothing but heat and exploration and the dizzying beautiful scent of him, consuming. Here Ryoma is joyfully, deliciously content.</p><p>Somewhere between Xander looping his free arm around Ryoma's waist and Ryoma settling in to lean more against Xander than the counter, Ryoma finds himself overwhelmed, full of sensation that's going right to his head, and which the bathroom fan alone is not enough to contend with. He wants to roll in Xander's scent, to bury himself in it like a fresh pile of autumn leaves. Ryoma manages to pry himself free enough just to say "Excuse me," and then he's four-legged, dropping to the ground unceremoniously.</p><p>At least the yukata is loose enough for this. Ryoma shakes himself – doesn't quite get free – looks thoughtfully up at Xander. His scent is deeper like this, full of warm notes, but not intoxicating, only <em>everywhere</em>.</p><p>"You weren't exaggerating," Xander says, voice low and rich with amusement. He comes off the counter only so he can sit down, leaning against the cabinet behind him with some care, legs folded up to manage the narrow space. "Hello."</p><p>This saves Ryoma some trouble. He leans in to lick Xander's face with enthusiasm. </p><p>...it rather lacks something in this shape, now. But Xander laughs for it, which is good enough, and helps pull his paws out of the yukata's sleeves, and once that's been handled Ryoma flops across his legs with a sigh of utter contentment. </p><p>"You did say about being pet," Xander murmurs, and rubs behind one of Ryoma's ears. Ryoma's tail picks up a steady cheerful rhythm, thump thump thump between floor and cabinet. "I suppose it can't be too rude, then."</p><p>Certainly no one else would let him. This, too, can wait. Ryoma wiggles a little in Xander's lap to get comfortable. Not all of him fits, of course, and Xander's knee pokes a little, but if he arranges himself just so— Ah. That's better. </p><p>Xander moves his attentions to Ryoma's neck, growing bolder. Ryoma melts just a little.</p><p>Bliss.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can you believe it took me <i>one hundred thousand words</i> and change to get these two to smooching. </p><p>...beyond the particularly wolfy enthusiasm of sticking tongues in mouths, which doesn't count. (This is a true fact. Wolves do this on the regular.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. moving targets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: the continuing saga of the Nohrfam parenting (past, mentions only, no explicit events)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xander couldn't say precisely how long he sits there with a wolf in his lap.</p><p>To be exact, Ryoma's more across his lap than in it – Xander’s noticing all over again that he's a large wolf, bigger even than the biggest dogs Xander's ever seen, and he fits on Xander mostly by emulating a blanket, draping up and over in a long ungraceful sprawl that doesn't seem like it should be comfortable. And yet: Ryoma is comfortable enough to close his eyes and sigh a long wolfish sigh when Xander digs fingers into his ruff. </p><p>The marvel of the wild creature has not quite worn off; it is only a little bit colored, now, knowing the man is within the wolf. Xander hesitates remembering that, wondering about the propriety of petting him, but then again Ryoma had said he might seek it out. And it seems that some degree of intimacy, at least, is permissible between them.</p><p>Surely Ryoma would have said something by now, if this were objectionable. </p><p>And it's easier, too, to think of the warm weight pinioning his legs, to keep his attention in the here and now, instead of contemplating what necessarily lies ahead, of all the reasons this had been a bad idea in the first place. Xander had known it was rash even as he did it, kissing Ryoma, and even now there are a hundred nagging fears and justifications, new precautions to take toward the future—</p><p>But Ryoma had smiled like a sunrise, and now acts utterly comfortable in Xander's lap. It's hard to regret the action, like this. So Xander doesn't, only sits in the moment and revels in it, for as long as he's allowed to have it. </p><p>When he's finally interrupted it's by Leo, yawning as he trudges past the door and then backtracks to Xander. He has a tray of food, half-eaten, with him, and with a briefly askance look at Ryoma, Leo settles down cross-legged in the hall. He sets the tray on the floor, pushing it toward Xander. "You didn't eat," he says.</p><p>"You didn't sleep," Xander returns, but leans over to reach anyway. Ryoma is instantly more alert, apparently invested in the food, but the only move he makes is to point his ears in that direction. There's an assortment of options – a sandwich, a rice ball large enough Xander is decently sure he'd need both hands for it, carefully chopped vegetables taking up a corner. He opts for the sandwich at the moment, takes careful bites without having to take his injured hand away from Ryoma.</p><p>"I slept," Leo says, folding his arms. "Enough for now, anyway. What's the thing you left me? It smells strange."</p><p>Xander isn't sure he could reproduce the details of the explanation accurately. "It's a request from our hosts," he says carefully. "The reddish wolf from earlier—"</p><p>"The one with the teeth," Leo puts in dryly. There's a sound from Ryoma which Xander is almost certain has amusement in it.</p><p>"—Yes," Xander agrees. "There's a form of magic accidentally emplaced between you which she would rather not. That will lift it, or break it— you'll need to ask one of them for more details."</p><p>"Hm." Leo leans back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling in thought for a moment or five. "I don't feel anything out of the ordinary, but I suppose it has been... a long day."</p><p>Xander suspects this is the closest Leo will get to admitting that he might miss something. "It sounded like it would be a one-way bond, if you yourself were not a wolf as well," he offers. "At least, that's how I understood what Ryoma said."</p><p>"I'll have to look at it later," Leo says. He's frowning faintly when he looks at Xander again, and this time his gaze goes very pointedly to the wolf. "You said you were going to talk to Ryoma. Is that him?"</p><p>Ryoma lifts his head a little, just enough to look at Leo and huff. He flops down again in a few seconds, ears still angled vaguely in Leo's direction. "It is," Xander says. It's only occurred to him now that he should potentially be embarrassed about Leo catching them like this, but he's gone this far without blushing. </p><p>"He's... very big." </p><p>Xander's frame of reference for wolves is rapidly expanding, and even so, he has to agree. "He said he could be willing to help retrieve Elise, independently of any agreement between our families," he says, instead of making any comment on Ryoma's size. "And I would prefer that you not make any attempt at driving when you're this tired."</p><p>Leo makes a face, but he doesn't actually disagree, which is telling. "What about everything else?"</p><p>It feels strange, conveying bargaining tactics with the person he'd just asked about them right there, but Ryoma seems utterly disinclined to weigh in on the conversation. Perhaps being pet is simply that nice? "He confirmed for me that there is likely to be no agreement without removing Father, one way or another," Xander says. "However, that carries a significant amount of weight in itself."</p><p>"That's good news, I suppose." Leo shoves a hand back through his hair, heedless of the mess he makes of it. "For everyone except Garon. Listen— if it came down to it, what would you be willing to testify to? In court, or close enough to. We have a lot of circumstantial things, but nothing concrete. He's gotten bolder, but not sloppier, as he got older, so if there's any <em>proof</em> it's going to be in the house. Probably in his study, which you've cleverly detected is heavily warded. We would need more than suggestions and coincidences if we wanted a chance of putting him in prison."</p><p>Xander doesn't know. He's not sure he even knows the full extent of – everything – with how much he has told himself is fine, is simply necessary. "This may be a discussion worth having with Mikoto, as well," he says instead of answering. "Regarding what is and isn't possible. And I don't know if there's any sort of— wider magical community which might have some say?"</p><p>This is accompanied by a regretful look downward. As much as he appreciates Ryoma demonstrating affection like this, if Ryoma is currently capable of resuming a form that's capable of human speech, that might be better.</p><p>“If there is, I don’t know of any,” Leo says. “I’m sure there <em>are</em> more people like us, or... not like us. As the case may be. Our mothers came from somewhere, after all. But regarding the keeping of any possible laws...” He trails off thoughtful, eyes distant as gears move somewhere inside his head. “Perhaps it’s only that Garon has been subtle enough to date. Perhaps there are ways of concealing magical evidence just as there are with money trails.”</p><p>The wolf in Xander’s lap heaves a deep sigh and gets to his feet, carefully disentangling himself from Xander. He pauses — licks Xander’s face once — and picks up his earlier discarded clothing in his teeth. There follows a brief and fascinating difficulty as Ryoma appears to assess his options, and finally climbs into the bathtub, nosing the shower curtain across behind him. </p><p>“...Ah,” Leo says. “Clothes <em>don’t</em> shift with them.”</p><p>Shadows shift and sounds shift, and there’s the quiet thump-<em>ow</em> of Ryoma presumably introducing his elbow or knee to the hard surface, and then in human form, clothed, he draws the curtain aside and comes back to where Leo and Xander are, settled on the floor between bathroom and hall. Carefully Ryoma sits near Xander, not quite touching.</p><p>Xander misses the warm comforting weight of him immediately.</p><p>“There’s not really what you would call a community,” Ryoma says, picking up as if he’s always been part of the conversation. Leo eyes him, sidelong-suspicious, but opts not to comment for the time being. Perhaps, Xander thinks, this is standard practice in a house where the occupants have just as good a chance of being wolf-shape as human. “Most non-human beings like us have different needs, and different desires. I have some contacts, and I may be able to trade on Father’s goodwill or promise future favors in exchange for certain assistance, but there’s no larger integrated body. Each typically takes care of their own.”</p><p>“What sort of assistance?” Leo wants to know, adapting quickly to the given parameters. </p><p>Ryoma lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “It depends on the people and the need,” he says. “I’ve made some requests among those contacts I know of for information, for instance. There are kitsune we have a reasonably polite relationship with who might be willing to help with illusions, for instance; but nothing extended or long-term.”</p><p>The space between them is maybe an inch or two. Scant, but decorous. Xander considers if it would be too rude, or too forward, to edge just sideways enough that they might touch, even that little bit.</p><p>Leo taps his fingers together, still visibly thinking. “What if, if not an action, the opposite? A promise not to take certain actions?”</p><p>“Such as?” Ryoma prompts.</p><p>“A promise not to shelter Garon if he flees, for instance,” Leo says, and gestures expansively. “In an ideal world, we can return to the house, get into the study, and find whatever evidence he’s kept thinking no one would be able to get in. Payments at suspiciously coincident times are circumstantial; we can tip off human police to look at those and follow up, and with whatever Xander is willing to say we might well stand a good chance of convincing a judge and jury to our side, but it’s not as sure a thing as I’d like. Proof would be better. And court proceedings take time, even with ironclad evidence. There’s too many options for his movement in the interim, even if we can be protected.”</p><p>“That agreement I think I can secure,” Ryoma says distantly, and the smile he flashes is a little fierce, a little unhappy. “I should hate to threaten; but if it comes down to it, giving shelter to my father’s murderer is not a precedent anyone would wish to set.”</p><p>Xander does make the shift he’d been contemplating then, under the guise of rearranging how he’s sitting — he draws one knee up, lets the other drift to the side, till there’s a faint warm point of contact between them. Ryoma pauses in whatever he’d been about to say, glances over, and his expression changes visibly, the unhappy smile fading to something smaller, more genuine around his eyes. </p><p>“There is something I have been wondering,” Ryoma says then, “and perhaps you will be able to shed more light on this, Leo. What does your father — Garon — want? Xander and I have theorized that Corrin’s kidnap was in truth an attempt to take a wolf child, and there is a certain power I carry which was passed down from my own father, something that travels in the blood. Something which, perhaps, could have been taken or drawn to another of my father’s children, with some work. But it’s a theory, and there’s little else to ground it on.”</p><p>“What kind of power?” Leo wants to know. </p><p>Ryoma glances away from the both of them. “Much of the knowledge has been lost,” he says. “We know it is of storms, and that our stories suggest it was a sword once.”</p><p>“A <em>sword</em>,” Leo says, with a victorious little <em>ha</em> following. “He’s a sore loser.”</p><p>At first this goes unexplained, and then Xander gestures at Leo to say <em>go on</em>, and Ryoma turns his attention back over with a curious tilt of his head. Leo clears his throat, settling himself back down to something calmer, more self-assured. “Like yours, this is just a theory,” he says, “but look at it like this. There’s something similar in our family — a sword of legend, meant to be passed down the bloodline. But I haven’t ever seen it, only read about it in Brynhildr. It might as well not exist. And you can be sure if Garon did have it, we’d know about it. He’s that kind of person. Right?” </p><p>Xander considers it, tries to imagine a world where his father had some sort of legend in his grasp and did not at the least display it. Finally he nods an agreement.</p><p>Leo does the same, agreeing, setting his conclusions on solid ground. “So what I think is, it skipped a generation,” Leo says, more animated as he goes despite his best efforts. “We don’t have any aunts or uncles that I know of, so when our grandfather died, whatever Siegfried is now should have gone to Garon. Except— it didn’t. And maybe that would be normal if the power had just... faded, so Garon went looking for some other kind of substitute, something to bind to our family in its place. And <em>then</em>.” He turns a brilliant face on Xander, and Xander sees it fade as Leo remembers exactly the cost he’s implying. “...then he found it,” Leo says. “In you. If Siegfried has criteria of worth, it decided you fit them better than he did, or ever could have. So much that he never even had the chance to take it to his hand.”</p><p>Something in his stomach drops out unpleasantly. Xander looks down at his right hand, at the faint scars that linger, at the twisted, determined mark that refused to fade entirely, only changed until Father was less angry about the judgment of his worth. </p><p>Leo shifts his attention. “Ryoma. What about yours? Is there a physical — anything associated with it?” </p><p>Ryoma has been observing quietly, attentive while Xander and Leo sort this thing between them. Now he nods, leans over and rolls his sleeve up as he offers his right arm. It’s difficult to see — what is there shows more as light catching off a slightly different texture than anything else, but there is something. A mark like a branching lightning bolt, partway up the inside of his forearm. “I forget about it most of the time, in truth,” he says. “Lightning struck when my father died. It’s— how I knew, before anyone else.” </p><p>His wolf form, Xander remembers, has a faint mark on the right foreleg — white fur, where the rest of him is brown and black. This must be why. </p><p>Leo leans in to make cursory investigation, hands hovering without touching, and then settles back. “But no physical sword or anything like that?”</p><p>“Nothing that I know of,” Ryoma confirms. He sits down properly again, though his knee is now pressed more firmly against Xander’s. “Why?”</p><p>“Trying to establish rules,” Leo says, distantly. “I have a mark, as well, but it came specifically from Brynhildr— the first time I picked it up. And Brynhildr is separate from me, so I don’t know if it follows the same strictures that yours do. Mostly, what I want to know is if Xander has Siegfried within him like you do, or if there’s a physical form like Brynhildr.” He’s scowling now. “I don’t know enough.” </p><p>It sounds like he’s taking it as a personal affront.</p><p>“Do either of you remember anything like a sword in your house?” Ryoma asks, which seems like a reasonable next step. </p><p>Leo’s already shaking his head. “Nothing would fit with the decor,” he says, with a wry twist of his mouth. “Like so many other things, if such a thing does exist, it’s in Garon’s study, and I’ve only been allowed in once, when I was much younger. I don’t remember, from then. Xander?” </p><p>Xander has certainly been permitted entry more recently than any of the others; but he can’t think of anything of the sort, either. What looms large in his mind’s eye are the hunting-trophies, the old books, the carefully kept red vials. The fang he hopes isn’t Ryoma’s father’s, with a lingering, chill sort of dread. He, too, shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “There are places where I suppose it could be, but I don’t remember the full thing clearly enough.” There might be an old suit of armor in one corner; it might be made from his imagination, the sort of thing that goes with old tomes and stag-heads and wolf-pelts. He’s uncertain enough that he wouldn’t bet on it.</p><p>“If we assume there isn’t a physical sword,” Ryoma says, slow and careful like he’s picking his way through tricky brambles. “Then there are still two possible conclusions: either the physical form now looks like something else, or the mark you bear is all there is.” </p><p>This is all, Xander notes to himself, predicated on the idea that he does have this birthright, this legend passed down to him as a mark on his palm. It might yet be nothing. It might...</p><p>And how many birthmarks appear spontaneously at fourteen, he asks himself, and the effort asking the question takes is like heaving an old rusty door open. It’s easier to dismiss it. </p><p>But easier to accept at least the possibility, too, with his brother and his — whatever Ryoma is to him — speaking of magic swords as though they are a true and common fixture of everyday life. </p><p>Leo rests his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand. “Camilla <em>is</em> skilled in the forge,” he muses aloud. “Capable of re-shaping something like that? Perhaps.”</p><p>Forge-magic, making-magic, slots into place with Camilla in Xander’s mind, an idea he’s had before and forgotten. He grimaces, closes his eyes for a moment and rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s starting to hate that feeling, being reminded of something he’d known and then dismissed or simply let fade into a comforting haze. Being reminded that on some level he’d made that choice. This is his family: it is the <em>barest</em> of his duties to them to listen, and to hear and understand what they have to say.</p><p>He has protected them as well as he is able, but in this respect he has failed them.</p><p>“You would know better than I what to look for in that respect,” Ryoma points out. His knee is still a reassuring warmth against Xander’s, no matter how small the point of contact. “Raijinto has been as it is as long as I remember, and there are no texts in our library on it. Still— perhaps we have something on other magical artifacts. I haven’t been looking.”</p><p>“May I take advantage of your library, then?” Leo asks, eyes sharp with interest. “And— well, I’m sure you’ll need to check with your mother— but Elise ought to come first.”</p><p>“Of course,” Ryoma says. “Family does. I agree with Xander, however: you shouldn’t be making any long drives.”</p><p>Leo sighs heavily and dramatically. “Then it will have to be some combination of you two,” he says, slowly clambering to his feet. “And we should check in on Camilla, as well. I know— Xander, you said you told her to go?”</p><p>Xander nods a quiet agreement. “I said I’d keep my phone nearby,” he says, which he has, though he is certainly guilty of not looking at it for some time. He checks, just in case — nothing yet. He doesn’t know if that’s a relief or not, but the way he can’t quite relax his shoulders begins to suggest it is not. “She hasn’t said anything, but we didn’t agree on formal check-ins.”</p><p>“Hm,” Leo says, dubious. “How long has it been?”</p><p>Thinking back to add the spans of time together is harder than it ought to be. Xander frowns at the clock on his phone, adding backward — how long did he sleep? When did Leo get here?</p><p>“You called me around three,” Ryoma puts in. “We slept much of the day, in and out.”</p><p>“We,” Leo repeats, with some interest, and then quite abruptly changes his mind. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”</p><p>Ryoma presses his lips together, but Xander is sure that is a smile lurking beneath. </p><p>His phone, at least, tells him the current time. “It hasn’t been a full twenty-four hours, then,” Xander says. “More like twenty, at this point. Camilla will have had to stop somewhere, but there’s every chance she’s sleeping by now.” As they probably should be, and would be were it not for other pressing issues. “Father...”</p><p>He hasn’t tried to get in contact, either. This should ostensibly be a relief, but instead it’s gnawing slow at the pit of Xander’s stomach. </p><p>“As nice as it might be to think it’s blown over, or that he didn’t notice, we have to assume the worst,” Leo says brusquely. “It leaves the possibility of a pleasant surprise, but this way we won’t be metaphorically kneecapped if Garon’s in a murderous mood when we go back.”</p><p>It says something terrible, and Xander knows it does, that their version of assuming the worst involves pain and potentially murder. He’s known it — maybe for years; certainly it was thrown into exceptionally sharp relief when he’d asked Ryoma about his father. The look on Ryoma’s face had been so perplexed, off-guard. It had never once been something he’d considered, that he could be afraid of his father, and meanwhile Xander had taken the concept for granted.</p><p>It’s all wrong.</p><p>“Right,” Leo says, moving them along from that with a speed Xander can’t help but be grateful for. “Where’s the library, and if your mother’s free it might be wise to talk to her while I’m at it; and while I’m researching, you two can go and get Elise.”</p><p>Xander feels, vaguely, like he should have some say in this. But it’s a solid enough course of action for the immediate future, and he doesn’t actually have any objections, except to the fact of getting up. He still finds himself missing the wolf on his legs.</p><p>Ryoma gets up, resulting in some interesting flashes of skin with the shift in his clothes. Xander looks away, trying not to think about it right here and now, and then Ryoma nudges him in the shoulder anyway, leans down to offer a hand when Xander glances back at him.</p><p>He’s been folded into the space against the bathroom counter for a little while, and he’s still faintly tired, and— he’s certainly making excuses to himself in order to justify taking Ryoma’s hand. Xander accepts the help up, and is pleased but not entirely surprised to discover that Ryoma has nearly the strength to pull him up independent of assistance. </p><p>It means when Xander reaches his feet, they’re standing very nearly shoulder to shoulder. Ryoma’s expression is warm, and Xander has a moment to spare for imagining picking up where they had left off when Ryoma turned into a wolf. </p><p>Warm, and sweet, and lingering. But not right now: Elise comes first, and Xander is sure Ryoma understands that, with the way he acts toward his own sisters. Xander lets go of his hand belatedly — Ryoma gives him a knowing look, and reaches back only just enough that their fingertips brush. Just a moment, just that little touch, perhaps a promise to be kept for later, and then Ryoma moves past Xander and out into the hall. “It’s this way,” he says to Leo, and Xander follows after them.</p><p>Ryoma shows them to the library, which proves to be not so very far away, and points Leo not to the books he asks after, but to an organizational guide, which has been left on the round table in the center of the room. “It will be more useful in the long run,” Ryoma says of this, with a faintly sheepish look. “I’ll check to see if Mother’s awake.” So saying, he excuses himself. </p><p>Xander watches Leo disappear between two shelves, muttering to himself, and himself barely knows where to start. He settles for sitting down heavily at the central table, sends a quick check-in text and then leaves his phone face up and unsilenced in case Camilla replies or calls. Leo moves in and out, pulling book after book with a single-minded determination, and before long he’s thumped a stack down next to Xander. “It’s a shame there isn’t a convenient guide to ancient magical weapons,” Leo says grimly, and hefts down the top book, which from the spine appears to be about the myths of Japan as correlated to its history.</p><p>"Wouldn't it seem likely each one works differently?" Xander's a little hesitant over venturing the idea, but if he's approaching this whole thing logically, it would follow. "If each magical sword has a different identity, and a different legend..." He almost had it making sense. He frowns faintly.</p><p>"Potentially." Leo makes a face at the table of contents, flips the book over, and starts scouring the index at the back instead. "But they're at least in the same <em>family</em>. Even if it's the difference between a wolf and a horse, at least they're both mammals."</p><p>Xander can accept the parallel metaphor, he thinks. "Anyway," Leo goes on, not bothering to look up, "I don't exactly have a lot of firsthand sources to rely on. There's Brynhildr, there's Siegfried, and there's Ryoma's Raijinto. It's not much to establish a base set of rules. Anything else at all will help. Although I might have to rule out Excalibur for now, there's too <em>many</em> legends."</p><p>"Can I help?"</p><p>"You're going to be leaving shortly, remember?" Leo reminds him, riffling back through pages to whatever promising reference has attracted his attention. “Did you already text Camilla?”</p><p>“I did.” Xander double-checks the conversation to be sure it sent, and the phone confirms that it was delivered. The conversation from before is a few days old. Quiet nothings, regarding where she was (the forge) and if she wanted coffee, since he was out anyway. There is a moment, fleeting and wistful, where Xander wants such quiet days back— but they weren't really, were they? </p><p>Just in case, Xander adds that Leo is with him, and all is well. But then there is nothing further to do except watch Leo, and peruse the stack of books, and wait.</p><p>The answer arrives before Ryoma does. Pages turn, and it's lulling enough that Xander could almost doze off just so, with his chin in his hands, but eventually in the waiting his phone chimes quietly with a return message from Camilla. </p><p>No— not a message, an image, a picture taken in what looks like a restaurant, though Xander doesn't recognize it immediately. Camilla is the background, tucked into the corner of a booth and raising a quizzical eyebrow toward the camera. There's a stack of pancakes on the table in front of her. On the near side of the booth is the picture-taker, too close to the lens for proper focus: Elise, grinning with delight. Xander suspects a strong factor in the delight is the waffles piled high with whipped cream he can see just behind her shoulder.</p><p>Father should absolutely never know about this. Xander breathes a sigh of relief. There's a longing to be there with them which he folds away in a quiet corner of his heart. Not now. Eventually. Then he passes the phone to Leo, and rests his head in his hands, and for a moment knows peace.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. plan the middlegame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: continuing implications of abusive parenting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mother is still awake, Ryoma finds when he goes to check in on her. She takes one look at him and gives him a knowing smile. </p><p>Ryoma hadn't thought his delight was quite that obvious, nor quite so lingering, but apparently it is. She does seem to have been expecting to resume the conversation, at least, and so is content to accompany Ryoma back to the library with little request for clarification. "It is good they have had the chance to talk to each other," is all she really says, a little wistfully, enough to make Ryoma remember that they never have met Mother's sister, have only barely heard her name.</p><p>Here, hiding and pent up by wards, Mother has never had the chance to look for her.</p><p>In the library, they find Xander busy over his phone, and Leo nearly buried behind a stack of books. Both of them look up when Ryoma and Mother come near, and the family resemblance shows clearly in their startled expressions. </p><p>Mother covers her mouth for a moment, hiding any amusement that might be taken too poorly in a tense situation. "Have you come to some conclusions?" she asks, taking up one of the seats at the round table.</p><p>Ryoma settles closer to Xander, wanting at least to be near, and looks a quiet question at him. There is still the matter of his younger sister, after all, and he had half expected Xander to be ready to go as soon as they returned, and to leave Leo and his research to Mother. "Elise?"  </p><p>Xander half-smiles, tired but genuine, and shows Ryoma the phone he's lately been busy over. The picture pulled up is of his sisters, if Ryoma remembers their faces correctly from the family portraits. "Camilla picked her up, it seems. This much, we don't need to worry about." </p><p>Ryoma wants to reach out, cover Xander's hand with his own, or nudge his knee, or potentially even lean over and kiss him. It might be allowed, now. As they are watched by family, and as there are important practical matters to hand, Ryoma restrains himself; but the yearning persists, nevertheless. "Good," he says, after a moment. "That's a relief."</p><p>Meanwhile, Leo is sizing up Mother, thoughtful as he marks his place in his book. "I would like to search Garon's study for evidence of his misdeeds," Leo announces, quite calmly. "Something more concrete than a log of non-specific payments. Can you offer assistance with dismantling the wards?"</p><p>They are diving right into things, then, but Mother doesn't appear to be very surprised by this, either. Perhaps she had expected it. "I can offer advice," she says. "Points of technique and tradition you may not have encountered before. But I cannot leave the bounds of my own wards and hope to maintain them." </p><p>"Hm," Leo says, and he sounds vaguely disgruntled. "And I can't ask that of you, naturally. If we mean to do this legally, within the system of the law and courts, there will be necessarily some period of time where Garon is not precisely contained, and we all of us will need to be careful." He pauses there, and Ryoma sees a change in his bearing, a new tilt to his head. He can't put name to what it means, but the difference is nearly palpable. "What of that, then? Your advice and expertise on potential magical pitfalls, and for that period of time while things are legally in flux, offer my family shelter. Including, once things are in motion and she returns home, Corrin." </p><p>Ryoma sees where Mother's hands tighten to white-knuckled on the edge of the table. It is a powerful offer, something they all gain from, and without quite crossing the bounds into using Corrin as a coin for barter. "If there is anything of my husband in that house, it will be returned," she says, adding terms without making it a question.</p><p>Leo nods sharply. "Yes. On the subject of justice – if your husband was killed in wolf shape, I doubt we will be able to prove that to a human court. Will you count whatever debt there might be paid if he is imprisoned for other crimes?"</p><p>"The debt of blood," Mother says, with a faint trace of warning, "yes. But he was a husband, and a father— Ryoma?" </p><p>"Two different debts?" Xander wonders. There's a crease between his brows. </p><p>"Yes and no," Ryoma says. "In this case, it doesn't matter. I agree with Mother."  There's a fuzziness, there – Mother is pack but not a wolf, and Ryoma is a wolf but not really their leader, so the husband and the father could be argued to be two separate losses. Ryoma opts that they are not. </p><p>Anyway, the lords and ladies are more strict about that sort of thing. If justice is delivered, Ryoma won't really care whose hand it came by, only whose he gets to hold.</p><p>Leo drums his fingers across the book. "Very well. Do you categorize knowledge of ancestral magical weapons as things which may be advised on, without unbalancing an exchange? I believe it relevant to Garon, at the very least."</p><p>"With caveats," says Mother, without batting an eyelash. Ryoma would have thought it an odd request, if he hadn't been speaking with Leo and Xander earlier. "Certain things I cannot speak of; but I will be more or less plain about those."</p><p>There's an odd pause, then. Ryoma glances around the table. Mother has her polite-implacable mask, which she is so very good at, and Xander's frowning with what looks like concentration, and Leo has a slant to his mouth Ryoma can't quite read. It might be discontent.</p><p>Fortunately, Leo solves that mystery before very long, gestures to Xander and then Ryoma. "Whatever my brother and your son are doing is not contingent," Leo says, determined and pressing onward. "I do not mean to insult, only to be clear."</p><p>Mother smiles. It's just a little curve of her lips, but Ryoma knows the one: in some way, she's proud. "Your care is to be admired," she says. "Whatever Ryoma chooses to do is not part of the exchange between us." She looks to him, now, looses one hand from the table to turn it over, palm up. Gently she beckons to Ryoma. </p><p>He takes it as the request for input that it is, but for a moment has no idea what to say. “...there is nothing of debt, either way,” he says at length, scrambling in formal wording. “Your agreements with Mother are not dependent on my, ah. Romantic aspirations.” Ryoma chances a look at Xander there, and finds to his relief that Xander meets his eyes easily, calmly. Of this, at least, there is not any current doubt.</p><p>“I did not think they would be,” Xander says then, with the gentlest of curves to his mouth. </p><p>Would it be too much a reach, to read fondness there? But Xander offers his hand toward Ryoma, just a little more than halfway across what scant distance there is between them, and this gesture Ryoma rather thinks he can read. He reaches back, clasps Xander’s hand, and despite their audience dares just a little bit more, bows his head to brush a chaste kiss where their fingers tangle. </p><p>Xander is still watching him intently when Ryoma raises his head again, and the weight of that regard alone nearly makes Ryoma hold his breath. </p><p>Leo clears his throat. “Since that’s settled,” he says, rather pointedly, “I’d like to talk plans of action. If we have at least a skeleton of a plan, I can ask better questions and save us all some time. Elise being with Camilla means we don’t need to worry immediately, and we can invite them here if necessary, but the less time Garon has to get ahead of us legally, the better.” He glances in Mother’s direction, adds, “I warned Corrin’s school there was a local threat against the family, and to keep a close eye on her. I also may have implied some identity theft issues, so with any luck they will at least be wary about any communication from Garon.”</p><p>Mother visibly settles herself, and that it is visible means there must have been more than a little bit to settle. “A good first line,” she says. “But not one that will last.”</p><p>“No,” Leo agrees. “It won’t. Once we initiate trial proceedings, hopefully with some kind of protective order, it’ll be a different story. So. If we assume we’re returning to the house in the next couple of days...”</p><p>“Father is almost guaranteed to still be there,” Xander says. “He hasn’t had any business trips for a while. The only reason he’d leave is one of us, I think.” Xander has leaned forward, focused now on Leo and this conversation, but he hasn’t let go of Ryoma’s hand, either, and the warmth of that hold is a staying, suffusing one. </p><p>“So we assume he’ll be there,” Leo says with a nod. “And we have to assume, too, he’ll know when we come back. Either the alarm system will be armed or some kind of wards will be, and— even with Mikoto’s help— I don’t think I will have appreciable subtlety within the span of a few days.”</p><p>“If you cannot be sure of stealth, bet against it.” Mother nods an agreement. “Do you mean to confront him now?”</p><p>Ryoma feels Xander’s grip on him tighten just a fraction, like a flinch. </p><p>Leo waves a hand in the air, dismissively. “I don’t see that there’ll be much of an alternative,” he says, frankly. “If Garon’s going to know as soon as we’re there, then we need to either deal with him or distract him long enough for a decent search. I can’t imagine he’s just going to stand there and let us go through his study.”</p><p>“He won’t,” Xander agrees soberly. “There’s a good chance he will be in his study to begin with. If not there, likely the master bedroom.”</p><p>“Which is, of course, the next best candidate for useful information or relics.” Leo leans back in his chair for a moment, sighs with some frustration; just as quickly he’s straightening up again, fingers drumming, motion continuing in constancy. “This would be much easier if we could just fight him and have done.”</p><p>Xander levels him with a firm look. “We can’t. Not the way you mean.”</p><p>Leo holds his brother’s gaze. There’s a tension there even Ryoma can feel, the weight of some previous debate or action that colors the moment uncomfortably. Finally Leo nods, and glances away. “So. We’ll need to split up, but...” </p><p>The pause that ensues still carries the tension. Ryoma barely knows how to touch the thing. What he can do is squeeze Xander’s hand, as if a little pressure and closeness are even close to being enough to jar loose whatever is stuck. </p><p>“You have to be the one investigating the study,” Xander says, and he sounds calm enough, at least. “Yes. Whatever I did back there, I don’t think I could do it on purpose.”</p><p>“That leaves you with distracting Garon,” Leo says, distinctly unhappy about it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”</p><p>“If he’s unhappy with me, so much the better. I’ll hold his attention.” The way Xander goes on is peaceful, as if he isn’t talking about the consequences of angering a man with a history of hurting him. “It would only be for a little while, wouldn’t it? And afterward, if all of you are safe, then there’s no reason to go back.”</p><p>“What if we don’t find anything after all?” Leo counters, too fast and aggressive to be well thought out. </p><p>“Then we rest what we can on my testimony, if we must.” Xander’s eyes fall for a moment. “I would... prefer not to; but it seems to me that by beginning this path in the first place, it will be something that cannot be taken back. If you truly think there will be nothing there, then perhaps we...”</p><p>“...no,” Leo says, before Xander can finish the thought that this might all be for naught. “The way things stand isn’t tenable, either. This is a chance we have to take.”</p><p>“There you have it.” </p><p>Leo makes a frustrated noise, and slumps back in his chair, the picture of sullenness. “At least promise me you’ll protect yourself if you have to.”</p><p>“I don’t think,” Xander says, and then Ryoma can see him visibly reconsider, change his conversational tack. “...all right. If I must.”</p><p>There’s a quiet again, since they’ve worked this out between them; but it seems to be a more agreeable one, less fraught with tension. Mother has been watching and listening patiently all this time, and now, when she is sure she is not interrupting, delicately puts forth something further. “Although I cannot accompany you, you need not necessarily go alone. In fact, it may be best, for at least one of your objectives, to bring a wolf with you."</p><p>Both Leo and Xander look caught out, though Ryoma suspects the reasons are entirely different. "I hadn't thought to ask for your family," Leo says. "I would not have sufficient value to trade."</p><p>"Let us call it an individual choice, then," Mother says. Ryoma doesn't often see Mother negotiate, but he's been by her side long enough to know she is being terribly generous, bending around strictures of exchange and debt to offer as much help as is viable. She has a vested interest in their success, after all, and if it can be done without too far indebting one to another, so much the better. </p><p>Ryoma would much rather be where he can take some action if it's called for. "I'm going with you," he says, without hesitation. </p><p>Leo just nods. It's Xander who gives Ryoma a longer, lingering regard, one that's a little troubled. Ryoma doesn't falter. "I'm the best suited to pick out anything of Father's," he says. "And it's possible that if there is trouble, Raijinto will be some help." He still doesn't know as much as he'd like about the power in his blood; but it is a truth, and he can't think it will sit idly by if he's attacked.</p><p>—it didn't help Father, he supposes. That's not going to stop Ryoma from trying.</p><p>"...very well," Xander says. "I would be hard pressed to talk you out of this, would I not?" The slant of his expression suggests he's not best pleased, but he's assessed correctly.</p><p>Ryoma nods. "There will always be risk," he says. "This, to stop larger risks. It is worth it."</p><p>"If anyone else wishes to accompany you, that's acceptable," Mother adds. "Although I must forbid Takumi, Kagero or Saizo may be amenable, and Hinoka may prefer to." Sakura will not wish to, which, Ryoma suspects, is the only reason Mother hasn't said anything explicit. </p><p>Leo nods shortly, gaze distant as he puts things together. In a few moments he's focused again. "Ryoma and I for the study, then, and Xander to distract." It's a short summation, but Leo's lip curls over it anyway, clearly not much enamored with that idea. "If another wolf will consent to accompany us, they would be best with Xander, I think. If Garon is in the study, then... Xander will have to lure him out." Leo sighs a heavy breath out, rests his elbow on the table and his head against his hand for a moment. "I don't like it much, but it's the simplest, most efficient set of options."</p><p>"I'll be careful," Xander promises, and Leo laughs short and bitter.</p><p>"The next question, then, is when?" Ryoma puts this into the temporary quiet. "If your sisters are safe for now, then it doesn't need to be right now, and Leo will need time to speak to Mother, and a good night's sleep would be best for everyone." Leo has dark shadows under his eyes, and while Xander is steadier than he was, he still does not look well rested. </p><p>"Tomorrow," Leo says, and then stops short. "No, it's past midnight now, isn't it? Ugh. We should consider the time of day. If Garon is – what we are –  then daytime will help him as well as us. Does the moon do much for you?" </p><p>"It's waxing," Ryoma says automatically. "The closer it is to full, the more driven by instinct we become. I wouldn't say it has to do with strength."</p><p>"Hm." Leo sounds unsatisfied. "If it's to be roughly the same either way, then I'll favor the daytime."</p><p>"Most likely the wiser course, if you will be working with the wards," Mother adds. "If the necessary rest takes you into the dark again, then I would say to wait until morning." </p><p>Leo makes another noncommittal sound. "I suppose. We've already waited long enough to lose any benefit of surprise. At least I can be reasonably certain he doesn't know where we are – I'd know if there were any foreign magics lingering." He pauses, considers, amends. "I would recognize anything from Garon. Apparently there are still holes in my understanding regarding other magics. And on that note, can one of you provide any further information on the sachet Hinoka asked me to carry, or is it something I ought to take up with her? I have only a basic comprehension of the issue."</p><p>Mother glances at Ryoma, and he realizes he doesn't actually know if Hinoka mentioned this to Mother at any point after her bolt into the mint. "I don't know where she's gone," he says, answering a question that hasn't yet been asked. "She was fairly insistent about breaking, but I believe she said she wouldn't mind speaking to Leo on the topic as long as he was appropriately scented." Or not scented, as the case might be.</p><p>Mother's mouth compresses. "It may also need to be brought up with her if she is to have the option to accompany you," she says. "If she is too distracted, it won't be suitable."</p><p>"Why don't I go and find Hinoka," Ryoma offers. "I can send her back this way." The in-depth discussion of the mechanics of wards won't do much for him, save perhaps how to recognize them – wolf magic, pack-magic, simply doesn't work the same way as differently integrated powers. "I think that will provide the most clarity as to her wishes and state of being, after all."</p><p>"Very well. Leo, do you have everything you need to begin to speak of magic?" Mother has gone a little more brisk than gentle now, with work to be done and a clear agenda in place.</p><p>Leo thinks about it a moment, nods. "Well enough."</p><p>Ryoma is just beginning to ponder the difficulty of getting up and leaving while also still holding Xander's hand, when Xander taps their twined fingers to get his attention. "I'd also like to speak with you privately, if that can be arranged," Xander says quietly. "Shall I go with you to find your sister?"</p><p>A little delight thumps at Ryoma's heart; just as quickly he tempers himself, reminds himself he has no idea what Xander needs to talk about it and it might just as well be purely practical matters, or – anything at all that doesn't involve kissing, or discussion of kissing. "I'd welcome the company," he says, which is entirely true, and which makes letting go of Xander's hand much more palatable.</p><p>Xander smiles, small and tired but warm. "I did just have the opportunity, I suppose," he says, a little ruefully, "but I don't think we quite finished." He turns to Mother, lifts his voice above the intimate softness. "I appreciate your help— if there's anything I can contribute?"</p><p>"We'll find you," Leo says, dryly fond, and makes a shooing gesture. </p><p>Ryoma goes, and he takes Xander with him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. wait for me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hinoka proves at first elusive. Partway through a sweep of the first floor, Ryoma appears to lose patience with the concept of a thorough search, and instead loosens his sash and leans forward, dropping to the ground with paws instead of hands. The shift is so fast Xander barely sees it.</p><p>His breath still catches at the closeness, the majesty of the wolf now beside him; but any dignity is rather lost as Ryoma pauses to struggle out of his sleeves. Xander can see why robes and similar garments seem to feature so largely in Ryoma’s wardrobe.</p><p>He leans down to help, and winds up just carrying Ryoma’s clothes, trailing him around the unfamiliar house. Ryoma lifts his nose, jaws parted, and sniffs carefully — one way, then the other. Xander remembers the way he’d navigated in the woods, sampling from multiple directions before deciding on a course of action. In the mundane environment of the house, it’s more fascinating, perhaps because he isn’t relying on a wolf to get him out of the dark.</p><p>Xander’s staring at Ryoma. He would stop, only he doesn’t know where else he’d want to look.</p><p>With Ryoma leading by scent, finding Hinoka becomes much simpler. Ryoma takes them upstairs, then upstairs again, finally up stairs pulled down from the ceiling to a broad attic which deserves the name only by dint of being shaped by the slant of the roof — it’s clean, warmly lit, packed in tidy boxes with clear paths between them all. They’re all labeled by a steady hand, and Xander catches <em>Ikona</em> written on an open one and <em>Sumeragi</em> on the next box down before he drags his eyes away.</p><p>It might well explain why Hinoka is up here. For she is, after all, tucked into a back corner where there’s more open space, a few books spread out alongside her knees and one in her lap. They’re journals, it seems, each visible page filled to overflowing with blue ink and nearly continuous writing. She looks up when she hears them, and then makes a cross face as Ryoma shoves his nose at each book in turn. “I’m <em>using</em> those, don’t lose my place.”</p><p>Ryoma sniffs her face instead. He doesn’t show any sign of shifting back to human in the immediate future. Hinoka buries her fingers in his ruff, looking like she means to shove him away, and instead sighs and just stays there, glances up at Xander. “Was there something you needed? Since you went to the trouble of sniffing me out, and all.”</p><p>“If you don’t mind, will you speak to Leo and your mother?” Xander thinks about asking why, about whose journals these are, and ultimately doesn’t; he already feels too much like he’s trespassing. “Leo had… clarifications to ask after, and Mikoto wanted to ask you something, as I understand it.”</p><p>Hinoka ducks her head a little, looking almost guilty. “I’ll go in a little while,” she says evasively. “I want to finish this.” </p><p>Ryoma nudges the journal in her lap and, very, very softly, whines. </p><p>It draws Hinoka’s attention, and she softens for her brother, affectionately rumpling his ears. “Yeah, Mom’s journals. I dunno, I was out of ideas about the humming thing, I hoped maybe she’d know something. I guess it’s not urgent.” </p><p>All the same, she doesn’t move to get up. Xander doesn’t know what to do, with Ryoma apparently also not inclined to move at first. The sense of trespassing has not entirely vanished. Eventually he takes a step back, then another, intending to respectfully retreat and wait for Ryoma outside. </p><p>He gets three steps before Ryoma stands up straight and eyes him reproachfully. Xander stops where he is — the look is clear enough, even on a wolf’s face. </p><p>Ryoma takes time about stretching back and front, long and indulgent. He pauses to lick Hinoka’s ear, one brief, cursory thing a far remove from how enthusiastic he has been with licking in the past. Then he pads back toward Xander with a cheerful flip of his tail.</p><p>Xander can’t think of anything else to do but follow; nor is there anywhere else he would rather go, right at this moment. </p><p>Back down the stairs, then, and Ryoma doesn’t lead Xander to his bedroom, which, all things considered, might be wisest. Regardless of relatively innocent intentions, there’s a certain loaded quality to being private in a bedroom together. Xander really does intend to talk. </p><p>Instead they wind up in a room filled with musical instruments, most of them in cases, and those that aren’t covered neatly; and against the far wall a case more for display than for safekeeping, showing off what look like antique Japanese instruments. This last Ryoma gives an odd look, one Xander can’t quite decipher on a wolf’s face.</p><p>“I won’t look,” Xander says, turning to close the door behind them. Ryoma will need to shift back to talk properly, after all. And Xander is still holding his clothes, has in fact been carrying the brightly colored cloth all over the house. Belatedly, eyes still on the door, Xander holds it out behind him.</p><p>There’s a sound like ruffling, rustling behind him, and then a tug on the cloth. Xander lets go, tries not to let his imagination run away with him. In a moment or two more there’s a tap on his shoulder, and automatically Xander turns. Ryoma’s clothed and smiling, a bare soft curve of his lips that nevertheless transforms his face. His hair seems to somehow have gained more volume from his wolf form, tumbles about his shoulders in an uncontrollable mane. </p><p>Xander forgets what he’d been about to say, poleaxed briefly by the contrast between gentle and wild. He swallows hard, thinks carefully, tries again. “I wanted to speak about earlier,” he says. Easier to be bold now, when he has already kissed Ryoma once, and the enthusiastic response was hard to mistake. “There wasn’t really a chance, since you shifted and Leo had practical matters to discuss. But it is not something I would like to leave ambiguous.”</p><p>Ryoma tilts his head, smile fading slightly. The gesture is a particularly wolfish echo, now that Xander’s looking for it. “Go on,” Ryoma says, stepping back a few paces to occupy the space between instruments instead of lingering near the door. “What is it?”</p><p>Immediately Xander wishes Ryoma hadn’t stepped back. He takes a step or two in, following without crowding, and pauses with space still given. “I mentioned previous relationships had ended unfortunately,” he says, haltingly only because he can still feel his thoughts trying to turn away from those ideas. “That is also why I invited you to a room so — precipitously — when we met. Little things, brief liaisons, were— fine.” Not public, not long-term attached. Meeting once or twice, to pretend at closeness, and then never again. Father had never commented, if he even knew, and Xander didn’t do such things very often. </p><p>“I’d wondered, a little,” Ryoma admits. His eyes seem darker than they were, or perhaps his pupils are just very wide. “I almost kissed you then. I might have, if not for Hinoka.”</p><p>Xander spares a moment to imagine — if he and Ryoma had gotten a room, if those kisses had happened — and then he takes his imagination away from that. “Perhaps it’s for the best she interrupted,” he says, a little ruefully. “If it meant things turned out like this, instead.” </p><p>“I suspect so,” Ryoma says, though he, too, sounds at least a little wistful. “I’ve liked getting to know you. Very much.”</p><p>It’s this, of all things, that makes Xander’s face heat inexplicably. He pauses, lingers over that — Ryoma has liked getting to know him. It lightens his heart like few other things have, lately. “...as have I,” he says at length. Such simple words seem inadequate, but nevertheless Ryoma’s smile returns in full force, deep and earnest. </p><p>This time Xander only forgets what he was about to say for a few seconds. “I wished to explain that,” he says, “and to, ah, express the opposite. Regarding you. I am not...” Xander frowns slightly. Why is this so difficult, when he has already made up his mind? Gods. He shakes his head, as though to dispel it, and comes at it again. “That is. I am still afraid, in many ways. But I do not intend to let that stop me here. You asked what I would do if it was only me, if I did not have to worry or fear for anyone else. The more detailed answer to that is, I would like very much to date you. ...although, I will confess, I think the issues of our compatibility have already been answered.”</p><p>Perhaps it's odd – he doesn't much like the application of the word date, in this case. It feels more temporary, unsettled. As though they are still only getting to know each other and Ryoma has not already volunteered to follow Xander into something of unknown danger, has not already declared his deep fondness for the son of his father's murderer. All the other words Xander can come up with, however, are equally ridiculous. Courting sounds approximately a century out of date, for instance. </p><p>Perhaps it doesn't matter all that much. Certainly it doesn't seem to at the moment, with Ryoma's smile having taken over his face with radiance. Ryoma moves back toward him, closing distance again, and reaches out. He offers his hand, and Xander takes it without really thinking about the gesture, only driven to reach back. </p><p>Such a little thing, to thrill as it does. </p><p>"I would like that, too," Ryoma says, with grave assurance. His fingers slide against Xander's and leave heat in their wake. "And I will agree with your assertion of compatibility; but there is nevertheless no reason we should not study the matter further." He lifts Xander's hand, presses the lightest of kisses to his fingertips, and Xander can only watch near-hypnotized. The previous warmth pales in comparison to the brand of his mouth. </p><p>Xander's breath catches, his chest gone tight with some emotion. "Of course," he says, a little dazed, and tries to recollect what else he had meant to speak of. He's sure there was something. </p><p>—Ah. "You're sure about the bond?" he asks. He's not sure he wants to be turning attention to the topic, but he's equally sure it should be addressed at least once. Ryoma had sworn up and down it was fine, earlier, but they hadn't returned to it once he'd kissed Ryoma, either. There's a line somewhere, between trusting what Ryoma says and doing the diligence of making sure his prospective – partner – isn't adversely affected by any magic, but Xander isn't completely certain where that line is, yet. "If you did want to... ah, remove that magic from the equation, I would understand."</p><p>Ryoma simply looks at him for a moment, sidelong and unimpressed. "It made me look," he says finally. "It made me see you, not only— who your father is. As I said, it's... a thing born of instinct. If there wasn't some level on which I would want you anyway, it wouldn't exist."</p><p>"A shortcut, then." Xander tries thinking of it that way, wonders what such a thing would look like for his own bloodline. If perhaps Ryoma would have drawn the sunlight, gone glowing and radiant to Xander's vision. He can scarcely imagine it, in truth. "I believe I follow."</p><p>"I may yet have moments where I am overcome enough to shift," Ryoma says, shifting to something more apologetic. "For that I would ask your patience as I master myself again." </p><p>Xander shakes his head, intending to dismiss it out of hand. The interruption of situations by a wolf, he feels, will at worst devolve them into cuddling. So long as it is this wolf, and this man, there's really nothing to complain about. "It is easily given," he says. "As long as you are well."</p><p>Ryoma lets his breath out with an amused huff. "If it is near you, I think I will be," he says, simple and honest in an utterly disarming way. He tugs gently on their joined hands, and as Xander steps closer in automatic response so does Ryoma, putting them barely a breath apart. Ryoma's free hand hovers at Xander's waist. "May I?"</p><p>As much as Xander appreciates the sentiment of asking, Ryoma’s barely-felt warmth might be worse than liberties taken without query. “Please do,” he says, barely raising his voice.</p><p>Ryoma sets his hand where the promise of it had been implied, and Xander shivers unexpectedly. He couldn’t say if it’s Ryoma or himself that closes that last gap, presses them together, but the solid heat of Ryoma’s presence stills him, steadies him. Xander takes a breath, and then Ryoma is kissing him, all gentle earnestness. </p><p>There’s something endearing about how gentle he’s clearly trying to be, as if he thinks Xander is likely to need the delicacy. Even his siblings treat him generally as a solid pillar, which is an impression Xander tries to encourage. He does his fair share of time in the gym; he can haul a horse off its path if he really needs to, and he’s already proven an ability to shove Ryoma’s wolf-form more than a few inches. He may even have some little height on Ryoma. </p><p>And yet, Ryoma’s kisses are all tenderness, until Xander leads him somewhere more insistent. </p><p>Time passes very agreeably in that way, heated and breathy, learning the ins and outs of a new partner. Xander learns quickly that Ryoma melts with nearly any touch to the nape of his neck, that his hair is just as wild as it looks and eminently suitable for tangling fingers in. That, too, seems agreeable, judging by the hum against his mouth it produces, and where Xander can spare any momentary thought from the press of lips and tongue and <em>Ryoma</em>, he thinks toward brushing out that wild mane, lazy days drying off in the sunlight and nothing to worry about save which part of Ryoma to kiss next—</p><p>Not all his wants have to do with the hunger of skin and heat, and the force of even that bare aside-thought tugs at Xander’s heart with some terrible bowstring force. But for all that, it’s Ryoma who stops them, breaks off breathing ragged to bury his face in Xander’s shoulder instead. His arm looped around Xander is tight, not quite clutching. Xander worries at first, before he has the presence of mind to recall what Ryoma said about being overwhelmed by instinct and scent; and then, now that Xander’s looking for signs, he can feel the shape of Ryoma’s face changing slightly, the texture of his hair changing under Xander’s hand. </p><p>It’s a partial shift, Xander thinks, if he had to guess. The shape of Ryoma’s body against him almost ripples before stabilizing. Ryoma says nothing about it, only holds to Xander; and Xander, lacking any other idea, simply holds him close in return, arms about his shoulders. There’s nothing to be afraid of from Ryoma, after all, even if Xander winds up hugging a wolf instead of a man.</p><p>Xander turns his head, and Ryoma’s hair brushes his nose. Affection surges in him, gnawing and helpless to be expressed, with only that simple sensation as spark; and at the same time, standing like this, holding and being held, starts to sate some long-ignored ache in him, something hard and yearning nestled untouchable under his breastbone. The two twine around each other to paralyze Xander there, consumed in emotion and the faintly shifting press of Ryoma’s body against his, and for the world he thinks he could not move.</p><p>Finally Ryoma lifts his head — pauses to press a gentle lingering kiss at the corner of Xander’s jaw, again at the corner of his mouth. “I do appreciate your patience,” Ryoma says, low and husky and nearly right in Xander’s ear. It seems to shudder right down his spine. </p><p>Xander takes his time about being able to think again, and Ryoma doesn’t seem about to move, either, contenting himself with lazy, almost-chaste kisses wherever he can reach. “Are you all right?” Xander asks finally. </p><p>“For the moment, I’m not about to shift accidentally,” Ryoma says, voice rich with warmth and perhaps a little self-deprecation. “...yes. I’m all right. Better than all right.” </p><p>“Good.” Any lingering worries thus assuaged, Xander feels justified in giving in to a shadow of earlier temptation, threading his fingers through Ryoma’s hair in the patient pursuit of better ordering. </p><p>“Mmh.” Ryoma doesn’t entirely sound like he agrees. “Most of the time, I have very good control over my shape. Even when the moon is waxing. But you... there’s a point where all I can think of is following your scent. Among— other things.” There’s a delicate clearing of his throat. </p><p>Xander opens his mouth, meaning to repeat his earlier offer of carrying the herbs to break the scent-bond; but before he can get the words out of his mouth Ryoma has unfolded himself enough to cover Xander’s mouth with his hand. “It isn’t bad,” Ryoma clarifies. Thus unwound from the embrace, with only a hand between them, the honesty of his face, the open play of emotions, is easy to see. “It’s just... like the deep end of the pool.” A pause. “An experienced swimmer in the deep end, with a leg cramp.”</p><p>As similes go, Xander isn’t quite convinced about being compared to a leg cramp, but he supposes he could see the merits. Ryoma has been shifting since he was around thirteen, after all, and if anyone could be considered to be an expert, surely he would. </p><p>“Will you trust that I will tell you, if I change my mind?” Ryoma asks, serious and level, as he lowers his hand. </p><p>It’s a good and reasonable question. Ryoma has — well. Not lied to him, precisely, but stepped around the truth creatively. But by the same token, he was protecting his family, and as soon as it was feasible and permitted, Ryoma <em>did</em> open up, confess his second form and all of the other factors surrounding the deception. And Xander does trust him, broadly, at least with his life. Why not this, then? “Very well,” Xander says, with a slow nod. Even now, Ryoma does not act the same overcome way he did when they met. Xander should be able to respect his choices in this. </p><p>“Thank you.” Ryoma in his quiet dignity smiles again, and Xander wonders if the scent-bond truly cannot affect him; surely such a simple thing as a smile should not make him weak at the knees. Ryoma leans in to kiss him again — controlled, lingering pointedly — and bites his own lip when he straightens. “I realize now I don't know if that was all you meant to speak to me about. Should I apologize for the distraction?"</p><p>"The most pressing thing, for the moment," Xander says, honestly. If they are to become more to each other, then there will be days for talking of everything and nothing, certainly more than stolen moments in a music room while their siblings speak of how to bend the future to their will. For now this was the most important thing he wished to communicate, and it is hard to think of anything further with Ryoma still so close, in his arms. "Certainly you've done nothing worth apologizing for today."</p><p>“I’ll try to keep it that way,” Ryoma says, and the look on his face suggests very much there may be further kissing; only then there is a sharp rattling knock on the door behind them, and Xander can’t honestly say which of them moves first, only that they spring apart like startled cats.</p><p>The person knocking doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter. Instead the door opens after a few seconds, and then there’s a woman leaning inside. Xander recognizes her, more or less, from when Leo invaded the entry hall. She’s all over purple, from her hair to her eyes to the sweeping gauzy layers she’s wearing, and there’s a knowing quirk to her eyebrow as she surveys the two of them. “Your lady mother says to remember to sleep,” she says, mostly at Ryoma. “It’s already late, and she and Leo are speaking of the early afternoon tomorrow.”</p><p>The present tense finds Xander mildly suspicious of Leo’s own sleeping habits. “And of my brother, ah—" He never was introduced to her, was she.</p><p>“Orochi,” she says, dimpling with menacing mischief. Are those <em>scales</em>? “Don’t worry. Mikoto will make sure he sleeps, as well. It’s the two of you who weren’t under her eye.”</p><p>As much as Xander appreciates the assurance, he worries; and he rather thinks he would like to lay eyes on his brother himself. “I appreciate it,” he says, “but he may need persuading.”</p><p>Orochi shrugs, and flaps a hand at him. “As you will. Will you get lost?” </p><p>Perhaps. Xander looks at Ryoma; Ryoma nods, without having to be asked. </p><p>“We’ll be fine,” Xander says. “Thank you.” </p><p>Orochi is gone in a swirl of purple. Ryoma regards the door for a moment, then sighs. “It’s just as well,” he says. “We will have time for all that’s ahead of us later.” Xander appreciates the certainty there, as if he’s not leaning against the precipice of a massive and dangerous change. The way Ryoma says it leaves no room for failure, and from him Xander takes heart. </p><p>“I look forward to it,” Xander says, surprising himself with his openness, and rewarded for it with Ryoma’s smile. </p><p>So Ryoma leads him back to Leo and Mikoto, and Leo is already half asleep over his books; Xander shepherds him to bed, murmuring a polite good night as he goes. The bed in the guest room is large enough for Xander to tuck Leo in and then take up the other half himself, his only regret for that the necessity that the bed will not also fit a wolf, at that rate. Ryoma solves that problem in wolf-form, tugging blankets off the rack against the wall and down to the floor, where he paws them up and turns them about until they appear a suitable bed. </p><p>Xander cannot help but laugh. It’s on this note he sleeps; and though he had half expected otherwise, his dreams are peaceful, and kind. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sometimes, (nearly) unadulterated fluff is completely necessary.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. sounds like drumming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: mild injury, abusive parent</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the morning, Ryoma excuses himself from Xander and Leo’s room when they start to stir — his only pause is a brief nudge of his nose against Xander’s dangling hand, affectionate in passing though the lingering is sorely tempting. Then it’s a shower, and a fresh yukata, since today’s plans, Ryoma suspects, mean he will need to shift before they’re through. Perhaps he simply won’t bother going in human form.</p><p>Some combination of pack has put together a vast spread of breakfast. Mother and Sakura are the only ones immediately in evidence, but some cleaned places say that other packmates have been and gone. Ryoma drops into the seat next to Sakura, and ruffles her hair up gently. She ducks her head after a few moments, and he leaves off. </p><p>She looks worried. It’s hardly new, but Ryoma understands that this time there is a specific cause. Any reassurance, he feels, will sound shallow; so he does his best to act as if it’s any other morning. </p><p>Leo and Xander come down together, some several minutes later. Xander’s hair is dark gold with dampness, curling faintly around his ears. When he sits, it’s next to Ryoma, and Ryoma finds an excuse to reach past him for the salt he never uses, just so that their hands brush. Xander rewards this with a tiny, deep smile, and Ryoma’s next bite stabs himself in the cheek.</p><p>By contrast, Leo flops aggressively into the seat opposite Mother, making some sort of show of insouciance. “I forgot to ask last night,” he says. “When I was doing some of the research on weapons. <em>Raijinto</em> could come out of Raijin, right? The— what was it. Thunder god?”</p><p>“They are not my traditions,” Mother reminds him. There’s a set to her mouth that isn’t quite pain, but might well be adjacent. “It wouldn’t be an illogical assumption, however. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“Could you pass the pepper,” Xander says, a murmur at Ryoma’s ear, “and nudge the ketchup a little toward Leo?”</p><p>Ryoma nods, doing as requested, and is enlightened when Leo reaches for the ketchup without even seeming to recognize that it has moved. “Raijin is often spoken of in conjunction with Fujin,” Leo says. “Or— well, in the books you had that I saw, anyway?” </p><p>“They’re brothers, as I recall,” Mother says. Ryoma nods agreement. It’s been some time since his first foray through the old stories, but he does remember that much. “Often depicted together.”</p><p>Leo nods. “Right. About what I thought. My next question, then, is: does Raijinto have a counterpart?”</p><p>Mother pauses, giving Leo a long and considering look. It is the sort of look, Ryoma knows, which goes right through a person. “There may have been, once,” she says finally. “Ikona would have known more. She was, as I understand it, from a different pack. They moved later than my husband’s ancestors did. As things stand now, though, if there is some other artifact in the family line, I do not know of it.”</p><p>“Anything he’s often shown with?” </p><p>“A bag of wind,” Ryoma says, a little dryly. “I would like to say we would have noticed.”</p><p>“Hmph.” Leo settles down in his chair, picking at ketchup-soaked scrambled eggs. “It might be waiting for the right person. Brynhildr was just in the library, after all. Anyone else had plenty of chance to see it, before I picked it up.”</p><p>“What makes you think there <em>is</em> a counterpart?” Mother asks. </p><p>Leo shrugs uncomfortably. “A feeling,” he says. “Well— I think— it’s strange, but there’s something in this house that isn’t Ryoma’s power. And I don’t <em>thin</em>k it’s you, either— but I couldn’t tell you why I think that, or describe the feeling.”</p><p>Mother rests her chin in her hand. “An interesting thought,” she says, a furrow between her brows. “As Ryoma says, it is the sort of thing I would like to think we would have noticed. And yet...”</p><p>Leo waits a little, busying himself with food before prompting. “And yet?”</p><p>“Sometimes,” Mother says delicately, “Raijinto makes Ryoma difficult to see.” She steps carefully around specifics, around any mention of foresight or scrying, in a vague way Ryoma once found frustrating and now simply takes for part of how Mother must be.</p><p>“...I see,” Leo says. “Then if there is something from a similar source here, perhaps you would not see it.” </p><p>A fractional inclination of Mother’s head. “Such a search would take longer, I think, than you wish to spend in preparation.”</p><p>Leo nods more firmly, straightening up where he’s begun to slouch. “Probably,” he says. “If it was something you had on hand, the help could be useful, but delaying isn’t wise. We’ll go as-is.”</p><p>Mother glances toward Ryoma. “Hinoka has said she’ll come with you, as well.” </p><p>Ryoma’s of two minds about it, and he pauses over his own food to contemplate. Hinoka is strong and capable, of course; she hasn’t yet found the thing she can’t do if she puts in enough work, and, occasionally, percussive force. But he worries about her, as he will always worry about his siblings, and he wonders if it is wise for both of them to go.</p><p>She, however, will be the most rational of them, more than likely. Ryoma, though he manages well, will necessarily have Xander in mind, and Xander and Leo will both protect each other with everything they have, if Ryoma has observed them correctly. Meanwhile Hinoka is neutralizing her scent-bond to Leo, and is concerned more for Ryoma; but she knows, too, something of the depth of care Ryoma has. </p><p>It’s probably the best option. And any more wolves and it will begin to look more like an invasion than a scouting trip. “Good,” Ryoma says. “Has she been down yet?”</p><p>“Been and gone,” Mother says. “And out in the greenhouse, I think. She’ll meet you.”</p><p>The rest of the meal is easygoing enough. Mother quizzes Leo on some of the finer points they apparently went over last night, more pleased as they go on — “Remember,” she says, “you can call if you get stuck.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Leo says, shoulders up; and then, more grudgingly, “but it’s appreciated.”</p><p>Most of Ryoma’s attention is for Xander, who past that first smile does not look especially at ease. His mouth draws down and his gaze is distant; and so, while Leo and Mother are busy, and when Sakura has excused herself in a tiny voice and gone off to take her dishes to the kitchen, Ryoma employs himself as distraction. A touch at Xander’s wrist draws his attention — some part of Ryoma exults that this is allowed, that he may have this tiny liberty unquestioned! — and Ryoma proceeds to relay, with quiet amusement, some of the misadventures this dining room has seen over the years of feeding a not insignificant pack of wolves and humans.</p><p>By the time Ryoma has drawn some dishes aside to show Xander the arrow-scar in the table, Xander has laughed twice, and there is less tension in him. Ryoma counts it a job well done.</p><p>Then they are preparing to go. Ryoma lends Xander clean clothes, tosses his others off to be washed and tries not to take <em>too</em> much delight in the image of Xander in his clothes. Xander’s burn is healing well enough — he accepts the salve, but declines wrapping it today, looking pensive at the mark on his hand as he does. “I don’t want it to come to a fight,” Xander says, as Ryoma bends his head to look over the burn again. “But I almost wish I had the thing — Siegfried — properly, if only for how much of this may well be because it marked me.”</p><p>Ryoma, Xander’s hand cupped between his, doesn’t immediately know what to say to that. He can’t weigh in on if Garon would have been a good, kind father if only the sword hadn’t passed him over, if only the power in their family line hadn’t deemed Xander more worthy this explicitly. </p><p>Xander looks away. “I am blinding myself again,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Am I not?” </p><p>This, too, Ryoma does not know how to answer; but he dares far enough to press his lips to Xander’s fingertips, and Xander sighs softly, and takes his hand back. Before Ryoma can go anywhere, though, Xander has straightened from his lean against the counter, opened his arms just a little in tentative, mute question. For a moment Ryoma doesn’t quite process what’s being asked, but when he does there is no other answer but to step into that created space. Xander’s embrace settles loose, gentle about his waist, and Ryoma winds his arms over Xander’s shoulders, and gladly holds him close when Xander leans into him.</p><p>They stay there like that a while, Ryoma silently willing what comfort he can give this way to be anywhere near enough. His nose is still full of sunlight, but yearning doesn’t swamp him quite the way it used to. And Xander is warm, and real, and solid in his arms, no earthy dream to vanish upon waking. </p><p>The longer Ryoma holds him, the tighter Xander holds in turn.</p><p>What finally makes them move is Leo, rapping his knuckles at the doorframe and clearing his throat politely. Xander startles — Ryoma tries not to be too disappointed. “If we’re going, best go now,” Leo says, not bothering to stop at a greeting on the way to business. “Any longer and we’re only losing daylight.” There’s a pause, and then, not terribly graciously, “...sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Xander says, disentangling himself from Ryoma. One hand lingers at Ryoma’s hip for just a few moments longer than strictly necessary. “You’re right. We should go.”</p><p>Ryoma swallows the faint whine that wants to escape his throat. There will be time for all such things later, and a moment longer is never only a moment. “This way, then,” he says, and leads them down and out. </p><p>They don’t see hide nor hair of Hinoka till they actually get outside. She’s perched on the hood of Ryoma’s car, and judging by the way the yukata she’s wearing enshrouds her shoulders, she’s stolen one of Ryoma’s instead of using her own clothing. Ryoma, resigned, figures this is the price he pays for having such delightful younger siblings. When she hears them she tilts her head, hops down with a crunch of gravel. “I’m driving,” she says to Ryoma, and Ryoma doesn’t argue. He doesn’t have any particular attachment to it, right now. </p><p>But someone needs to navigate, and that will need to be one of the König brothers. “I don’t <em>bite</em>,” Hinoka says impatiently when Leo hesitates with his hand on the door. “If you’re coming, come on.”</p><p>“I can—” Xander offers, taking a step that way. </p><p>“Take the back seat,” Hinoka tells him. She doesn’t glance away from Leo, rather opting to stare him down like there’s something to be won here. </p><p>Ryoma folds himself into the seat behind the driver’s, wincing at the amount of legroom. “You do bite,” he contends, as genially as he can. </p><p>“All right,” Hinoka agrees, “I do bite, but usually on four legs, and I said I wouldn’t bite him.”</p><p>“Again,” Leo says, with supreme dryness. He looks, for a moment, as though he might say something more, mouth open with some kind of lingering intent; then he shakes his head, and gets into the car. “She’s right. Let’s go.”</p><p>“I didn’t bite you the first time.” Hinoka drums her fingers on the wheel as Xander squeezes in behind Leo. The fact that the seating choices have the tallest of them in the back strikes Ryoma as perhaps not entirely well thought out, but as soon as Xander’s settled Hinoka starts the car, and then there is no more arguing to do on the topic. </p><p>“You’ll have to get out to the highway before I have any concept where we are,” Leo says, and, “The bruise on my arm begs to differ.”</p><p>“You’re not bleeding,” Hinoka says, not entirely friendly about it. “You found us on your own, didn’t you? Did you walk?”</p><p>Leo clears his throat. From where Ryoma sits, he can see his ears going red. “I found Xander’s car, and tracked him from there,” he says stiffly. “...On foot. I could hardly do anything else, with how dense the woods are past a certain point. Do you know how many brambles there are?”</p><p>There’s a pleased cackle at the back of Hinoka’s throat. Leo bears it by opening Brynhildr in his lap and at least appearing to read. “You were throwing vines about with your book, weren’t you?” Hinoka prods, a few moments later. “Don’t you have a way with plants or something?”</p><p>“The brambles didn’t like me,” Leo says, and leaves it at that. </p><p>It might be some effect of Mother’s wards, or perhaps even pack magic, with how invested in and tied to their forest the pack is. Regardless, it’s reassuring that there <em>had</em> been effects. And Leo hadn’t even quite had hostile intent — he had only, after all, wanted his brother. Ryoma suspects someone bent on harming them would have a much, much harder time getting through the woods. If they could find them at all.</p><p>The bickering mostly subsides. They pass by the rehab center on the way out, but Ryoma doesn’t think to look to see if Xander’s car is still there. His focus is for the man himself. Xander has tilted his head back, let his eyes drift closed as they go. Ryoma considers it — reaches over just enough to nudge Xander’s hand on the little span of seat between them. Perhaps he oversteps — he’s painfully conscious of how tactile he is, how much he <em>wants</em> to touch — but he hasn’t had any sign to the contrary yet. And now Xander, without looking, taps Ryoma’s hand lightly, overlaps just the first two of his fingers and holds there. </p><p>It’s such a little thing. And yet: if anything of Xander’s worries has eased by it, that is enough. </p><p>The rest of the trip is mostly silence; neither of their siblings reach for the center console for music. There is the flip of pages, and occasionally a low grumbled curse from Hinoka at the behavior of other drivers. Leo gives short, quiet directions as they become appropriate, and only once is he late enough that Hinoka has to pull a horribly sharp turn. All four of them lurch, but nothing worse. </p><p>Into the city, then; and then out again, away from the center of the city. They find their destination before they’re truly out into the suburbs. The König house has most of a block to itself, and where other buildings might dare to touch it, a black wrought-iron fence with a pointed sign about trespassing intercedes. There’s a minimal lawn bordered by juniper bushes, which has Ryoma grimacing faintly even from across the street. </p><p>The house itself is a tall, Victorian thing, pale grey whether by neglect or by graceful concession to the weather. There’s one tower, or something like it, and certainly a nice window-seat just visible if Ryoma cranes his neck. And he wonders — where has Xander been, in this house? In that window, or around the other side? He can’t picture children on the grass, much less small blonde ones.</p><p>Hinoka passes by the house, then takes them lazily around the block again. “Taking parking suggestions,” she says. </p><p>“The garage around the back is gated, and I’d rather not have a potential lock between us and the exit,” Leo says. “Here, take that turn— that’s a one-way street, you can idle there.”</p><p>“Idle,” Hinoka repeats.</p><p>“It might be helpful if someone stayed with the car.” Leo nods back to Ryoma and Xander. “If I am to Garon’s study, and Ryoma with me, while it could be helpful to have a second wolf, it may also complicate matters — and if Xander is playing the distraction, I suspect he will be more effective without company.” Ryoma can see his lip curl over this, just the mention of using Xander as bait. None of them like it.</p><p>Hinoka goes where Leo’s indicated anyway, while she thinks about it, rumbling discontented under her breath. She does a neat three-point turn and a decent imitation of curbside parking. From here, the house they’re after is across the street and down a block. It’s close enough. “I don’t like it,” she says. </p><p>“Miss Morimoto, none of us like this day any more than it deserves.” Leo snaps Brynhildr shut almost as punctuation, and bows his head to her with some courtesy. “It’s tactically sound to have a getaway driver waiting, and quite frankly no more people should be in that house than strictly necessary. I should not like to try to separate our brothers any further than our plan already has, which leaves you as the best option, no matter your preference. Will you <em>please</em> wait here?”</p><p>Hinoka pauses on the cusp of arguing further. Ryoma watches with some fascination as she thinks things through and finally nods, short and jerky. He would have laid money toward that being a longer discussion, but Leo’s approach with sharp logic and then asking politely <em>anyway</em> is a new one. “Everyone out of the car,” she says then, hitting the locks. </p><p>Ryoma gets out of the car, pauses with the door still open to think about which form he would rather for this. </p><p>“Ryoma?”</p><p>He glances over at Xander’s voice. “Coming,” he says. He glances around, up and down — makes sure the car is between him and the most likely place for a watcher — and then strips as he shifts, a more or less economical sequence of movement. He has to shake the second sleeve off his paw, but the whole thing doesn’t take long, and he noses the crumpled yukata into his empty seat. He means to shut the door himself, but Xander’s there before he can, doing it for him. Ryoma leans against his thigh for a long moment, and Xander sinks his fingers into the fur at his neck. </p><p>They breathe together once, twice, and then by unspoken agreement start off. Ryoma keeps pace perfectly, pretending for all the world as if he’s just a large dog, but the closer they get to the house the stiffer his gait becomes, and he feels the fur across his shoulders standing up.</p><p>The iron gate is first. Leo rolls his eyes at it, reaches over it and unlatches it with no trouble, and it swings freely open. Ryoma had expected at least an ominous creak. </p><p>Crossing this first threshold should be something. But there’s nothing: just the prickling scent of juniper, the fresher overlay of cut grass. Ryoma’s claws tick-tick-tick on the stone of the walk as they approach the front door. It’s darker than the rest of the house, and there’s an ornate gold knocker shaped like a crown. Xander reaches for his pocket — stops — pats himself down. “My keys,” he says blankly. </p><p>“Move,” Leo says, and elbows his brother aside. Ryoma is half expecting magic, some rising sunlight in Leo’s hands, but all Leo does is scrape a keychain out of his pocket and unlock the deadbolt. It’s kind of an anticlimax.</p><p>Leo leads them inside, and Ryoma paces next to Xander, squeezes in through the door at the same time instead of waiting for him to go first. It’s not convenient, but he doesn’t want to do anything else, either. Entering, again, feels less momentous than Ryoma thinks it should: the house is just a house, big and empty and echoing. There’s a vestibule which minimalism has been the death of, leaving almost no sign of the people who must surely live there; and past it, a wider entry hall, with doors to each side and a broad staircase leading up. Overhead, at least two stories up, hangs an ornate chandelier. It should, Ryoma thinks, catch the sun and refract it into a hundred hundred rainbows, but there is no light in it, now. </p><p>“His study’s on the second floor,” Leo says, his voice hushed though there’s no sign of anyone at all. The house is still, dormant. No lights are on, and most of the doors off the main hall are closed, leaving only curtain-filtered daylight to show them the shape of the place. </p><p>Ryoma takes an immediate disliking to it on principle, but he tries not to growl, instead just presses close against Xander’s leg and waits. </p><p>“We should go,” Leo adds, pointedly, and reaches over to prod Xander in the ribs. </p><p>Xander shakes himself, a full-body movement not unlike a shudder, and focuses. “Yes,” he agrees, matching Leo’s undertone, and starts for the stairs. </p><p>Ryoma means to match him, and does, but a new scent hits his nose as he sets his paws on the first stair, and he pauses there for a heartbeat or two, trying to identify it. It’s cold, he thinks, whatever it is — stinging the back of his throat like a winter’s chill when he opens his mouth to taste. But familiar: the cold isn’t all there is, just a layer over top, like frost over leaves. </p><p>The lower note is a scent Ryoma knows he should know, but doesn’t <em>quite.</em></p><p>There are footsteps in the second-floor hall as Ryoma finally places why he should know the scent, and then he really can’t help the growl that rumbles out of him, low and warning as a person comes to stand at the head of the stairway. Just ahead of Ryoma, Xander freezes.</p><p>“There you are,” says Xander’s father, and casts a cool, dismissive eye over the lot of them. He is old, Ryoma thinks, or perhaps ill; his posture is stooped, and his steps from earlier were slow, not entirely even. And the light is poor, but nevertheless Ryoma thinks there’s something wrong with his complexion. “I wondered when you’d be back.”</p><p>His scent is definitely wrong. Ryoma had always thought he would know it anywhere, know the hands that had touched his father’s body when he was freshly dead, but now that the man stands before him, Ryoma can’t make a perfect link of the memory. His mind stays here and now, and that night stays distant. The fury that resounds deep in Ryoma’s chest pauses, the rumbling softer than it was. </p><p>“...I’m here,” Xander says, only as loud as it needs to be to carry, and no more than that. </p><p>Ryoma leans sideways, sacrificing a steady stance in favor of a reminder of his presence; but what he finds at his shoulder is not Xander’s hip or thigh, but his hand instead. Xander pushes him off, not ungently, and takes a step to the side. Ryoma straightens himself, rearranges his paws, and tries to ignore the sting. There are greater issues. Xander is right. </p><p>The gesture has, nevertheless, drawn Garon’s attention. “And with a pet,” he says. It’s musing, thoughtful, almost to himself. The fact there is no sting nor venom to the words nearly makes them worse as he goes on. “It is a little late, Xander, to make things up by bringing me Sumeragi’s get.” </p><p>It couldn’t be that hard, to dash up the stairs and get his jaws on the man. Ryoma tenses, folds back his lips to display his teeth as counterpoint to the renewed threat of his growl. He shifts one paw, bends his legs.</p><p>A hand closes on his tail and tugs. “<em>Do not,</em>” Leo whispers, anger barely contained in two words. </p><p>Ryoma really, deeply wants to. Gone are thoughts of the strangeness of scent. He is sure again, and in his surety there is not room for much besides action.</p><p>—action, and Xander. Ryoma rolls his gaze to the side again, finds Xander standing still and transfixed, chin tilted up to look at Garon. The look on Xander’s face is— </p><p>Ryoma barely knows what to call the emotion, except that it hurts his heart to see the way Xander looks now. It doesn’t do much to make him want to not lunge at Garon, though. Leo’s grip on his tail is still firm, but not unbreakable. If Ryoma just pulls all at once, he can get loose, thunder up the stairs—</p><p>“I think it is time we speak plainly,” Garon says, and crooks a finger at Xander. “With me, Xander.” </p><p>He hasn’t even bothered to acknowledge Leo is there. Garon simply turns, as if he expects to be followed; and his voice drifts back, finally carrying some colder intent: “Do not keep me waiting.”</p><p>Xander follows him.</p><p>Ryoma stares after him, incredulous, as Xander puts one foot in front of the other, climbs the stairs without looking back, as if it is the only thing he knows how to do. Perhaps this is the plan— perhaps this is how it must be— but Xander hasn’t even objected. Hasn’t said <em>anything</em>. </p><p>Pain up Ryoma’s spine as he tries to lunge up the stairs again reminds him that Leo still has hold of him. Ryoma whirls on him, snapping. Leo lets go in a hurry, takes a step back with that hand raised. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he says in a rush. “You can’t go with them. I don’t like it either, but I need you with me, remember? We had a plan.”</p><p>They had a plan. The plan had not thought Garon would be immediately waiting for them. Ryoma points his nose up the stairs again, growling soft. </p><p>“I <em>know</em>,” Leo says, and his voice breaks over it. “I know. That’s why we have to hurry.” He pushes past Ryoma, takes the stairs two at a time, and turns the opposite direction, going along the landing that overlooks the entry hall and then around the corner. “Come <em>on</em>.”</p><p>Ryoma pins his ears back, flat against his skull, and follows Leo, though every part of him screams to go after Xander instead. Were this the night, were the moon any fuller, Ryoma might well be going the other way; but he is himself, and he controls his own actions, and right now that means that he leaves his maybe-love alone, so that horrible mute following will mean something.</p><p>He finds Leo leaning against one of the doors, his ear pressed against it like he’s cracking a safe, Brynhildr open and rustling in his off-hand. There’s nothing otherwise remarkable about the door — old mahogany, a brass handle. But that cold scent-quality is here, too, and as Leo murmurs, coaxing, in a language Ryoma doesn’t <em>quite</em> know, Traceries of pale gold and blue light slowly spread out from where Leo touches the door, in six-sided spike-patterns like frost. A net of them wraps around the door handle. “This is,” Leo says, and stops, and closes his eyes. He takes several deep breaths. “Something’s wrong here. What does the ward smell like?” </p><p>Ryoma trots a little nearer — hesitates. He doesn’t much like the feel of it. Snow is one thing; this is like sharp, new-cracked ice cutting at his pads. But it’s important. He slinks in close, presses his nose almost against the seam of the door and inhales, several quick sharp breaths to roll the scent through his nose. There’s definitely something lighter, more <em>Garon</em> underneath it, but the icy sense overlays it. </p><p>“Here,” Leo says, and he holds Brynhildr out to Ryoma. Some faint glow gathers around the pages. Dutifully Ryoma takes this in too: paper and ink, new growth, ivy, something vaguely reminiscent of Xander but without nearly the same glorious calm. “Differences?”</p><p>There’s really no option but to shift back. Ryoma arranges his posture carefully, and Leo, as he is bright enough to realize that asking for a verbal answer is going to require a shift, looks away. Human form comes over Ryoma slowly, harder than it usually is to reclaim, all the while flavored with thoughts of sinking his teeth into a likely throat—</p><p>Focus. “The door is cold,” Ryoma says. “It’s not quite a scent, but it isn’t temperature, either. He was like that, too. There’s something— more. Something you don’t have.”</p><p>“Winter,” Leo says, distant and cryptic. “I was afraid of that. He’s not— only himself, any more. There’s some other power here, too.”</p><p>“What does that mean for breaking in?” Ryoma wants to know. His every heartbeat thunders in his ears, louder and louder the longer Xander is out of his sight with Garon.</p><p>“It means that I am going to have to be… indelicate,” Leo says. “Go ahead and shift back. Can I borrow something?”</p><p>Ryoma is stark naked in his enemy’s house, and has nothing to lend. “What do you mean to borrow?” </p><p>“Just a little power. Something that isn’t of his blood.” Leo steps one pace back from the door, Brynhildr turning its pages apparently of its own accord, and he holds out his other hand, palm-down, waiting. </p><p>“All right.” Because this is an extraordinary circumstance, Ryoma complies. The wolf shape comes over him easily, warm and embracing, sharpening anger to a fang-point. By sunlight’s grace Ryoma does not immediately charge off to find Xander, but shoves himself under Leo’s hand, letting the touch find his shoulder. Leo flexes his hand, sinks his fingers deep into Ryoma’s fur. </p><p>He had rather it were the other brother, but that rather goes without saying.</p><p>Leo starts to glow, soft at first but quickly rising to a level where he begins to seem translucent. Ryoma feels warmth on his back, and more than that he feels the reach, like that warmth has passed his fur and reaches now for the heart of him, and the storm in his blood, so long lazily passive, rouses itself to prickling guard, the scent of scorched air rising up to match. “<em>Please</em>,” Leo grinds out, pained. “Just a little.”</p><p>Ryoma doesn’t like any of this, wants to go, wants to be by Xander’s side— and even as he’s thinking that he hears Leo swallow something like a yelp. It’s only then Ryoma feels the static through his fur, realizes that the prickling is not entirely within his blood any more, that burnt flesh has joined scorched air. Raijinto is of a mind with Ryoma’s intent, not Ryoma’s grudging verbal consent. </p><p>It isn’t as though he can stop wanting to keep Xander safe. But— with effort Ryoma turns his mind aside, reminds himself that the faster this is done, the faster they have what they need, the faster he can go to Xander and take him away from here. To place himself as shield, this must needs be accomplished first. So: <em>Yes</em>, Ryoma thinks, <em>just a little</em>, and he feels the storm in him turn — not friendlier, but no longer set against Leo.</p><p>Leo gasps for breath, harsh and ragged. “I thought,” he says, and, “the wolf—"</p><p>In Ryoma, wolf and storm cannot be so easily separated. He plants his feet and stares pointedly at the door.</p><p>Leo says nothing more, but raises the book. Electricity pulls through Ryoma, no more painful than the barest of static shocks, and it crawls across Leo’s shoulders with white-searing, branching fingers, to wrap around Brynhildr’s pages. Around them a great wind stirs, flipping pages this way and that, pulling at Ryoma’s fur. Brynhildr objects, Ryoma thinks, and then in the space after has no idea why he’d think that in the first place. </p><p>Whatever the case, it doesn’t need to object for long. Leo’s sunlight peels itself out from under his skin to braid with the lightning, and quickly all of this becomes far too bright to look at. Ryoma closes his eyes, and something deafening roars heat and splinters, and then just like that all is still. No light; no wind; no heat. Nothing.</p><p>When he opens his eyes again, the door is gone. So is a good several feet of the wall to the left. The door-handle hangs in the air for several long moments, like the net of the wards has maintained its enchantment beyond that horrible force. Almost belatedly it heats to red in the space of a second, and falls to the floor, where it sears into the carpet and sets it smoldering. </p><p>Leo, panting, leans on Ryoma for the space of several breaths before Ryoma shoulders him off and stalks, stiff-legged, toward the place where the door was. That cold sense is gone now. So is any trace of the wards, as Leo has managed to vaporize most of the wall. “I didn’t think,” Leo says, blankly, from somewhere behind Ryoma.</p><p>They have things to do, and those things are urgent. Ryoma steps over the line and sets to sniffing around the study for anything familiar. There’s an odd mixture of scents — blood is rich in the air, but it’s muddled. Many bloods, perhaps. The room itself is close, piled high with books and artifacts of one kind or another. Every shelf is overflowing. A suit of armor in the corner gets a cursory nudge — Ryoma leaves a noseprint on its dusty chestplate — but as it isn’t holding a sword, it doesn’t merit any further investigation. The central worktable has the strongest scent of blood, but right now it’s covered in a mess of papers. Ryoma puts his paws up on the edge and starts nosing things around.</p><p>Slowly Leo follows him into the room, remarkably hesitant for someone who had so recently thrown around such power with confidence. “I don’t know if he had shelves on this wall,” he says, turning to survey the gap. “I may have— I didn’t expect—"</p><p>Ryoma huffs a sharp breath out, stirring papers. Many of them have drawings on them; the top one is a bow. It drifts off the table to the ground, and Ryoma takes this as his cue to start scraping more papers off the table. He’s not getting anywhere just sniffing.</p><p>“You’re right,” Leo says then, taking Ryoma’s implicit commentary on the urgency of their quest to heart. “We’ll search what’s here. Talk later.” He moves to start with the filing cabinet across the room from Ryoma. </p><p>Everything is still quiet, save for how Ryoma’s heartbeat continues to pound in his ears. He thinks, as he drops down to nose at the storage under the table, that he can hear the crack of thunder in that pounding, that Raijinto, now roused, is <em>paying attention—</em></p><p>Distantly, on the next floor up, someone screams.</p><p>Ryoma has launched himself over the table and out into the hall, scrambling to find the stairs, before he even knows it’s Xander.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. and i am not alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: moderately explicit injury to hands, emotionally and physically abusive parent, magical pain.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow Xander hadn’t expected Father to be waiting for him.</p><p>Busy in his study had seemed most likely, since Father more and more rarely spends time outside it these days. Potentially taking a rest in the master bedroom. Xander wouldn’t have assumed he was out of the house, and accordingly all their planning had expected Father to be there <em>somewhere</em>, but— not here. Not like this.</p><p>Xander can’t look away.</p><p>It’s the first he’s seen Father since he really started seeing, he thinks. Now he knows they are something more than human, and Father’s hunting has not always been only of animals, and magic is a chain and a gate to freedom both. Xander finds Father looks different, now. His eyes are sunken, and though his hair has been grey for some time— not like this, not as though all the color has been stripped from him, head to toe, right down to the grey suit that was now clearly made for a larger man. It’s a silhouette of a father that waits at the top of the stairs, a poor photocopy.</p><p>But Father speaks as Father always has. Xander knows Ryoma, beside him, is growling, knows without having to guess that Ryoma wants to lunge to protect. Xander can’t let him — as much because Father may yet be dangerous to Ryoma as it is because Xander wants to handle all of this without invoking violence. </p><p>“With me,” Father says, cold and crisp, as if he can’t even imagine that there would be an argument; and Xander, still, does not know how to say no. “Do not make me wait.”</p><p>Xander climbs the stairs, slow and leaden, and doesn’t look back. If he did, his legs might fail him. </p><p>Ryoma’s low rumbling threat behind him grows distant, and finally inaudible.</p><p>The halls of the house have not changed much, but there are no lamps in them now, only distant seeping window-light, and so the shadows are mostly grey, fuzzy things that blur shapes to indistinction and pool listless under furniture. Father moves unerringly, if slowly — his pace is uneven. Once or twice he turns his head, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at Xander. </p><p>Stairs, once more. Xander follows Father to the master bedroom. He has almost never been here, not since he was young and his parents still shared it. The curtained bed is not what he remembers, and there are visible cobwebs turning the window drapes grey and dusty at the top. Of course; Father won’t tolerate staff intruding to his space, those few times they’re still here, and has no patience for things like dusting himself. </p><p>“Wait,” says Father, and moves to the heavy armoire. Xander stops precisely where he is before he even really means to, plants his feet on the deep maroon rug and clasps his hands behind his back. Skin meets skin, and Xander realizes only now— where did he leave his gloves? When was the last time he wore them? He’s grown so used to warm wood and the gentle drag of Ryoma’s lips on his knuckles, his fingertips, in such a short time. </p><p>He pays for it now with the clench of his gut, the painful awareness of the twin marks on his hands. They almost seem to burn.</p><p>“So you have changed your mind,” Father says as he comes back. There’s something long in his hands, wrapped in black cloth and golden cord. “You see now, do you not?” For all that he seems ill, his eye on Xander is sharp.</p><p>An answer is required. Xander dips his head in a slow nod. “I have... remembered what it is I see,” he says, seeing no point in hiding it now. “You killed Sumeragi Morimoto, that night, and kidnapped Corrin. Didn’t you?”</p><p>Father’s look is decidedly unfriendly, and his hands on the long bundle clutch like claws. “I hunted a wild animal,” he says, “as is my right. Is that what this is, Xander? Have you come to charge me with poaching, for the sake of your pet?”</p><p>Xander bites his tongue, sharp to cut through the sudden haze over his vision. Slow, he thinks, and careful; but for a moment, just a moment, he has remembered how to be <em>angry</em> with his father. “What are we?” he asks, instead of rising to that bait. </p><p>“Ah,” Father says, “still blind, then. Do you not remember your own mother’s name?”</p><p><em>Alfström, </em>Xander thinks, and sees sunlight and summer lands. <em>Alfar</em>. “Mother only had me,” he points out. </p><p>“She was the only one who had the correct blood.” Father almost sounds like he could lament this. “Ah, the others had power, in their way, but none of them were <em>right</em>. Not even the child from the woods, who should have been of a blood I could use...” He trails off there, and frees one hand from the cloth only to wave off the entire idea. “Useless to me, all of them. You had your merits, turning in upon yourself, but now you try to stand straight.” </p><p>Father knew, all along. Father knew, and preferred him that way. Xander can barely tell what emotion makes the chill along his spine, the painful lock of his fingers only so that he <em>does not move</em>. </p><p>He was more useful blind. And Ryoma had said... blood is among the most reliable links, to follow power. </p><p>There is salt in Xander’s mouth. He unclenches his jaw. Father sizes him up visibly, and shrugs, and casts the bundle to the floor between them. It drops heavily on the carpet, cloth splaying just enough to reveal a hint of metal. “Pick it up,” Father says, and his voice is iron. “It matters not, now. Pick it up, and see how far your rebellion has gotten you.”</p><p>Xander has to kneel to pick it up, and he does so gracelessly, heavily, terribly aware of Father’s observation as he bows his head. The golden cord is only loosely wrapped, and it falls away easily, and Xander tugs at the fabric, and then there in his hands, half enveloped by black cloth, is a sword.</p><p>It’s not much of one. The hilt’s leather is cracked, nibbled away; the crossguard sits at an odd angle. The blade has had the worst of it, so eaten by rust that it’s barely half a blade, showing jagged flakes where a keen edge should be. It was a greatsword once, something huge and so long that a grown man would <em>need</em> both hands for the leverage. Now Xander’s almost afraid to breathe on it, so fragile does the whole thing look. </p><p>“Pick it up,” Father repeats. Something nastier has crept into his voice now. </p><p>Xander is already holding it— but he thinks he knows what Father means. He turns the sword carefully, handling it with the cloth first, angling it as if he might draw it. A gem sits in the pommel, he sees now, but so coated with grease and dust it barely reflects at all. This might be the piece of the sword that’s in the best condition, and that’s a sorry thing. </p><p>Carefully Xander stands, left hand cradling the blade and cloth, and he takes the hilt in his right hand. For a moment, a brief flash of a moment, his mouth tastes of metal, like he’s licked an old penny. Then it’s gone, an imagination based in the blood welling up where he’s bitten his tongue too hard. “Are you satisfied?” he asks, and he already suspects the answer is no.</p><p>Father laughs then. He laughs until he’s breathless with it, until great uncontrolled whoops shake his entire frame, and all Xander can do is stand there, ears burning, and wonder what joke he has missed. “It is gone,” Father says, half to himself, still laughing between words. “It is not in you. I have taken it from you, and you will have no child to have it after you—“</p><p>Xander knows, then, what he should have known since he saw the blade, what his heart has known since the gem caught his eye. It is Siegfried in his hand, dulled and ruined with every scar that takes up his right palm. </p><p>“—and if it is gone from you, and you intend to stand before me and not behind, then I only have one further use for you.” Father dips into his pockets now, and comes up with a vial of dark liquid, and a short blade with gold at the hilt and darkness along the edge. Businesslike, brisk, he slices his own palm open. Blood wells up fast — a deep cut — and Father is not at all concerned. Quite calmly he crushes the vial in that hand, and his blood and the darker liquid seep out between his fingers, and the air is thick with the scent of it.</p><p>And Xander knows he should be doing <em>something—</em></p><p><em>—</em>and he remembers the mirrored mark on his left hand, and lets the cloth fall away from the sword—</p><p>—but pain tears through him and he bends double, unable to stand, unable to think of anything else but screaming, and yet:</p><p>He doesn’t let go of the sword.</p><p>It’s worse than anything else Xander has ever felt. Worse than the time Father decided to see if the mark would come free with the skin; worse than the lance of heartbreak and the gnawing guilt after. Something is pulling at him, at the core of him, like a hand folded around his heart and intending to yank it out through his ribs, and every tug a rip of pain like tearing metal, crawling down inside and uncaring what is broken in the process.</p><p>He tastes blood again, and he clings to the sword like a life raft, the only thing he can reach, the only thing he has. He’s curled around it on the floor, he realizes dimly, the rust-jagged blade biting further agony into his palm where he’s grabbed at it. Blood coats his hand now, slick and smearing. </p><p>The tearing pull at his core hasn’t gone away. Xander rediscovers that he’s screaming; and worse, that something like light is leaking out of him, glowing at his chest. He holds to the sword, presses it to his chest like it will keep the light inside him— and it almost does, is the odd thing. </p><p>It shouldn’t be any barrier at all: but it is, and Xander can breathe a little better, and his bloodied hand slides smooth along a blade-edge that doesn’t feel as jagged as it did but a moment ago.</p><p>The floor shudders; the room shakes. “Annoying,” Father says, as if from a great distance. Xander can’t quite raise his head to see him, but he can hear consistent thumping, as of something large slamming into a wall over and over again, and there’s a sound like yelping, some great beast pained, out in the hall. </p><p>—Ryoma. If Ryoma is there— where is Leo?</p><p>Thoughts of his brother, of Ryoma, push Xander to try to move where he might not have before. He doesn’t get very far before he has to slump down again, sword clutched to his chest still. And he can’t push himself up without letting go, and more than anything he does not want to take either hand off the sword, no matter that both of them scream the wrongness of torn flesh and seeping blood at him. But it’s a painful deadlock, and Xander cannot help anyone else if he is stuck holding a sword on the ground.</p><p>Whatever it is Father is trying to pull out of him, Xander decides, <em>he can’t have it</em>. </p><p>Something roars, and there’s a sense of heat at his back, then of wind. And Xander finds the pain is less, the pull is less — had it not been enough, to simply hold on? <em>This is mine</em>, he thinks firmly, though he may not be entirely clear on what <em>this</em> is. And he can breathe, and his throat may be raw but he is no longer screaming, no longer completely overwhelmed. “Get <em>back</em>,” says a familiar, sharp-toned voice, and, “I mean it—“</p><p>Then there are quick-heavy footfalls, and a shadow over his view, and Xander manages to slit his eyes open and roll his gaze around to see. A wolf stands over him, and the rumbling in its chest Xander feels resounding in his own as well.</p><p>Easier, and easier. Xander skims his left hand up the blade. He knows it’s deepening the wound there, but he’d rather that, right now, than let go; and anyway the sword under his hand is no longer jagged and rusty. He gets both hands around the hilt and— </p><p>Everything goes calm. </p><p>The pull in his chest still tears at him, but it doesn’t <em>hurt</em> any longer. Ryoma’s familiar growl, Leo’s strident incantation, the solidity of the sword in his hands: all these things tell Xander that all will be well. It isn’t time to rest yet, but the certainty of dawn after night resounds.</p><p>If Ryoma will move just a bit, Xander can get up. “Ryoma,” he says, and his voice is barely there, a rasp and a breath; but the wolf hears him nevertheless, curves his neck and swings that great head around to see Xander. His teeth have been well bared, but for this moment he puts them away, and Xander swears he can see the man and the wolf at once, soft-eyed for him, disorienting in their duality but never more correct.</p><p>Xander claws himself partway up, digging the sword into the rug to do it, and shoulders at Ryoma, and when the wolf sees what he is doing he moves a step aside and returns to snarling at Garon. Xander manages to get to one knee and stops there, panting, glowing, his head swimming.</p><p>He sees his father; he sees the dark liquid that coats his arm; he sees the uncomprehending look in his face, though it doesn’t last all that long. Garon raises that blood-soaked hand, trading confusion for malice, and Xander braces himself for something more, something yet somehow <em>worse—</em></p><p><em>“</em>You’re <em>done</em>,” Leo says from behind them, fierce and sharp and savage all at once. The floor under Garon buckles, but holds. </p><p>Nothing comes from Garon’s hand. He lowers it slowly to look at it, swaying on the spot, no color at all left in him, and then, all at once, collapses. </p><p>Leo’s book snaps shut, heavy and final.</p><p>Xander breathes, and bleeds, and remembers what it feels like when someone isn’t trying to rip his spirit out.</p><p>Ryoma stays snarling for some several moments longer, but his ears are pointed forward instead of back. Attentive. Watching. When he is satisfied, perhaps, is when he finally turns, and he folds his lips down politely over his fangs, and his tail comes up to swing back and forth, and with an infinite gentleness he begins to wash Xander’s face.</p><p>On staggering legs Leo moves toward Garon — Garon’s body? — like he has to drag himself. He moves knees locked, back straight, and doesn’t bend over so much as looks down his nose at the crumpled grey form. “Hunh,” Leo says, and holds Brynhildr to his chest, arms wrapped around the book like a stuffed animal. “...<em>huh</em>.”</p><p>“Is he dead?” Xander tries. His voice is still not much, barely audible and painful to use. </p><p>Leo’s look toward him is questioning before it finds understanding again. “What was that? —Oh.” He glances back at Garon, and then stumbles backward, away from the sudden shifting light and movement in that body. </p><p>Something is rising up, emerging, and surely it shouldn’t be. For a wild few seconds Xander thinks— his real father, the one who was kind when he was young, somehow caught in this grey wasp-paper chrysalis of a thing—</p><p>It is only light. Not quite sunlight: something icy, like a winter’s morning, illuminating the room in harsh paleness and sharpening all of the shadows to solidity. It chimes glassily, spreading out over the body.</p><p>Xander feels unaccountably <em>watched</em>.</p><p>A voice, then: a woman’s voice, deep and belling with the same chimes. “<em>Tell my sister I did what I could.”</em></p><p>All in rush, light and sound and watching vanish. Xander blinks back tears made from the sudden radiance as dust motes settle. In the dim, reality sets in. </p><p>The body doesn’t move.</p><p>But the wolf beside him does, sits down and leans against him, the rise and fall of his sides in perfect clarity against Xander’s. Soon, Xander will need to unclench his hands. Someone will probably need to take him to the hospital, and call the police. And he needs to know what Leo did, and what that light was...</p><p>Ryoma turns his head to lick Xander’s ear, and for now, Xander stops thinking of what needs to be done, and lets him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sometimes i feel like Garon just needs to be his own content warning. </p><p>Like, it wouldn't be super useful on the specifics, which is the only reason I'm not doing it: that's a whole blanket of skeeve. But god, he deserves it. </p><p>Recent chapter titles (wait for me; it sounds like drumming; and i am not alone) all drawn from the lyrics of Wait for Me, from the musical Hadestown.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. the raveled sleeve of care</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: moderately explicit injury to hands (as last chapter), blood.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma can’t say he’s sorry that Garon’s dead. What he can be sorry for is the lost look on Xander’s face, and the blood in his hands, and the uncertain way Leo wobbles. So Ryoma occupies himself licking Xander’s face — there were tears here, and if he’s determined enough he may get a smile — and it takes Leo saying something to remind him that they have practical concerns, too.</p><p>“I think we shall need your sister,” Leo says. He’s made his way back over to where Xander and Ryoma are, but he doesn’t come down to their level: his knees are locked, and even now he’s swaying on the spot. No mystery why, when he’d had to borrow from Ryoma again to break the ward through the wall Garon had put up, and probably taken more than he strictly should. Xander screaming had inspired both of them to desperation. On this level, yes, Ryoma thinks he understands Leo perfectly. </p><p>Leo may scar from this, judging by the grudging way Raijinto had moved, and the singed-flesh scent that accompanies him even now. But he does not fall. </p><p>He does stir himself to nudge Ryoma, when Ryoma doesn’t immediately answer him. “Hey. Did you leave a phone in the car? We need your sister.”</p><p>They don’t need a phone for that, she’s easily within the mile. Ryoma licks Xander’s ear again, and then, resigned, turns his head away and points his nose up. A breath, and he lifts his voice, howling, calling. His pitch rises and falls, and he thinks specifically of Hinoka, of compact muscle and reddish fur and affectionately combative intent. He needs her, and here is where they are. </p><p>When Ryoma stops howling, Leo rubs his own ear with a pointed look. “You are <em>very loud</em>,” he says. “Is that enough?”</p><p>Ryoma doesn’t know what to tell Leo, if he thinks wolves howling is going to be quiet. He flips his tail once or twice and goes back to Xander.</p><p>Xander still has hands clenched on the sword. Ryoma doesn’t need to be told this is Siegfried — wherever it came from, it smells of starlight, and hums of warning when he presses his nose to it. It would allow him, he thinks, for Xander’s sake: but it isn’t for him, and it wouldn’t be happy about it. Blood coats the blade — has coated the blade. Ryoma is sure there was more of it, giving the impression that the metal had a reddish cast, but now it’s a dusky, near-black sheen, save for where the sharpest points are silver-bright, and the ornaments at the crosspiece are golden and unbloodied. </p><p>There’s still the scent of blood in the air, though, it hasn’t healed Xander. Ryoma sniffs around the hilt and Xander’s hands again to confirm this, sits back down, and looks meaningfully at Leo.</p><p>“I don’t speak wolf,” Leo says. “Either you need to shift, or Xander needs to translate. Xander?”</p><p>Xander doesn’t immediately respond. It takes another repetition of his name and Ryoma coming around to lick his nose before Xander rouses, distant gaze coming slowly more present. “—what is it?”</p><p>“Can you tell what Ryoma wants?” Leo glances around the room, back toward the entrance, and frowns. “Damn. I think we vaporized the light switch.”</p><p>“You what,” Xander says blankly. Ryoma presses his nose to Xander’s knuckles to remind him of the other concern, rolls worried eyes back toward Xander. “—Oh,” Xander says. “I’m— I think I need a doctor.”</p><p>Definitely. Sakura’s home-made salves are not going to be any match for this sort of wound, and none of his family have demonstrated any ability for healing yet. Now that that’s been communicated, Ryoma can settle back to leaning against Xander. </p><p>“Hospital, then,” Leo says. “If you can keep your cuff, so you don’t glow overnight. And we— may need to call the police.” His frown lingers as he considers Garon again. “To report a death. I don’t know how we’re going to explain the missing walls.”</p><p>“Missing walls?” </p><p>Hinoka scrabbles into the room behind them before Leo can clarify this. She’s wolf-shaped, already snarling and hackles raised. “Oh, <em>come on</em>,” says Leo, and Hinoka folds her lip back even further somehow to more clearly show him how many and impressive her teeth are. Leo flings his hands up and then freezes with a pained sound.</p><p>Suspiciously, Hinoka sniffs at him, and when she has detected the same things Ryoma has regarding Leo’s exhaustion and injury, she puts her teeth away. </p><p>“I need someone <em>human-shaped</em>,” Leo tells her. </p><p>Ryoma turns his head away, predicting immediately how this is going to go for him; and, sure enough, there’s the sound of ruffling fur and shifting flesh as Hinoka changes. Leo makes a scandalized sound that doesn’t have actual words in it. Stumbling — Ryoma points his ears back for a clearer picture — ah. A heavy thump as Leo hits the ground and swears. Hinoka yelps. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Please put some clothes on,” Leo says tiredly, from the floor. </p><p>“I didn’t bring any,” Hinoka says, immediately defensive. “You’re the one who said you needed someone human-shaped. Well, here you go.” Ryoma does not at all want to know what her posture is like right now. </p><p>“We are not going to die in the next five minutes. Please just— go find Camilla’s room. I’m sure she has something you can borrow.” Leo sounds immensely and completely worn out. Ryoma hears his head thud against the floor. “Then I am going to ask your assistance to remove anything overtly magical from Garon’s study, anything we might need to reference, before I call the authorities.”</p><p>“Why do we need to?” Hinoka’s moving toward the door. “You and Xander can go to the hospital, and we can bury the body out in the woods where no one will ever find it.”</p><p>“Is this your approach to all legal matters?” Leo wants to know. “No. A missing person will be infinitely more trouble than getting a death registered. This handles the estate and all guardianship issues, if we put up with some attention from the police in the mean time. He’s rich, people will be more suspicious if he goes missing than if he just had a heart attack from being old.”</p><p>“<em>Is</em> that what he had?” Hinoka asks, with interest.</p><p>“Just go,” Leo says, and for once, she does.</p><p>Ryoma discovers that Xander’s shoulders are shaking. He focuses both ears on Xander again, sniffs at his face to determine what’s going on there — ah. Xander’s laughing, very quietly, at their siblings, though his eyes are damp like there might also be tears involved. Ryoma leans in to lick his cheek just to be on the safe side.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Xander tells him, very quietly. “Truly.”</p><p>Dubiously, Ryoma curves his body the other way, this time to nose at Xander’s hands again. There’s a pained hiss as Xander tries to lever his hands free. “Perhaps I am not fine,” Xander admits. “However, I doubt I can take a sword — ah — to the hospital—“</p><p>As he gets one hand off the hilt, there’s the rich scent of fresh blood; and, more than that, the sword shivers softly, and some of the life leaves it. It looks duller somehow, the metal less richly shaded. The leather that wraps the hilt should be stained bloody crimson, judging by the wound on Xander’s hand, but has stayed pristine black, secured with gold that dims as soon as Xander takes his hand away. </p><p>With some judicious leaning against Ryoma, Xander settles himself cross-legged, wincing with every motion, and the sword just in front of him before he lets go of it, cradling his hands in his lap. He grimaces when he sets eyes on the wounds, and looks away almost as soon. Ryoma thinks they probably need at least stopgap dressing, but as a small mercy the blood flow seems sluggish for the time being. “Leo?” Xander says, when he finds his brother’s form.</p><p>Leo is flat out on the floor, Brynhildr on his chest, staring at the ceiling. “Fine,” he says. “Just resting. I’ll get up when Hinoka comes back.”</p><p>“All right.” Xander doesn’t seem to be in an especial hurry to get up either.</p><p>Ryoma settles against his back, laying so he can curve his front half around and rest his chin on Xander’s thigh. Xander looks down at him, and manages a faint, pained smile. “I suppose it would be bad form to tell the hospital you’re a service dog,” he says. His voice wobbles over it, as though he’s trying desperately hard to put a good face on things. </p><p>It probably would be. Ryoma doesn’t like to think of Xander being alone there, either, but there will be Leo, and probably his sisters. Ryoma does not <em>need</em> to be with him: he just very much wants to. </p><p>Xander lifts one hand gingerly, sets it on the back of Ryoma’s neck. Palm-up, in deference to his injury, so that it’s only the back of his hand that touches fur, but the contact is appreciated nevertheless. Ryoma lets his breath out in a slow sigh that comes out part whine despite his best efforts. “If you don’t mind,” Xander says, “could you help me wrap these?”</p><p><em>If he doesn’t mind</em>. Of course he doesn’t. Ryoma pulls back a little before he shifts, and he stays partially behind Xander, kneeling carefully. “I don’t mind losing that shirt,” Ryoma says. “Here.”</p><p>Xander is judiciously careful of where his eyes go, Ryoma notes, as they negotiate the geometry of it together. With the shirt unbuttoned, and Ryoma helping get it off his shoulders, Xander can almost manage the sleeves himself. When it comes off, Ryoma takes over, detaching the sleeves and ripping seams open with brute strength instead of delicacy. </p><p>Hinoka comes back while Ryoma is working on this, dressed in cargo pants that are too long for her under a short dress that might actually be a tunic top on a taller woman. She pitches a bathrobe at Ryoma’s head and heads over to Leo. “Ready to go?”</p><p>“Hardly,” Leo says. “But we must.” He tries to get up, succeeds only in getting up to his elbows, and pauses there frowning. </p><p>“Okay, that’s pathetic,” Hinoka says, without any real venom in it. She offers hands down to Leo, and between the two of them they get him up, though Hinoka has her nose wrinkled the entire time and steps away as soon as she’s sure he’s stable. “Let’s go get shit out to the car, I guess. Ryoma? You two okay up here for a bit?”</p><p>Ryoma exerts more than a little effort to keep his head bowed over Xander’s hand instead of glancing over to the body of Xander’s father, now only so much unanimated matter. “We’ll be fine,” he says. “Go on.”</p><p>He wraps one of Xander’s hands in the remnants of the shirt before bothering to put the bathrobe on. It’s large enough it could conceivably be Xander’s, which might explain Hinoka’s additional delay, and certainly there’s a thoughtful look in Xander’s eye as Ryoma comes around to sit down in front of him and work on the other hand. He manages all this in silence, and when he’s done doesn’t know what else to do but sit there, holding Xander’s hands gingerly between his own.</p><p>Xander looks drawn, exhausted, and his eyes keep straying sidelong. “Ryoma,” he says at one point, as if to begin a question, and then simply stops. </p><p>Ryoma gives him a little while, and only prompts when nothing else is forthcoming. “Is everything all right?” </p><p>Slowly Xander shakes his head. “It’s... sinking in,” he says, quiet. “That offer. To stay with you. Your family. Even if...” He seems to have some trouble putting words to the rest of the question, and trails off with brows furrowed, gaze downcast.</p><p>With some delicacy, Ryoma puts together a guess. “You’re welcome to stay with us,” he says. “Even if you don’t strictly need the safety of Mother’s wards any longer. If it’s better to— not be here for a while?”</p><p>Xander presses his lips together and nods, very carefully, and then doesn’t say anything more. Ryoma inches forward, careful of the sword, until their knees just touch, and with that bare contact to give some comfort, stays right where he is. Only when Leo and Hinoka come back do they bother to move, slow and stiff, with the intent to face the day ahead. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've always had a particular fondness for this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. pick up sticks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A lot of what follows blurs, for Xander. Leo handles much of the necessity, helped by Ryoma or a grimacing Hinoka, or both— now that the emergency is passed, Hinoka doesn’t seem to want to touch Leo, which complicates things enough to make Ryoma step in. An ambulance is called about Father’s ‘sudden collapse,’ for the sake of plausible deniability. Leo puts together a story held together with tissue paper and spit, something about Father showing Xander a sword which was an antique family heirloom when he became suddenly infirm. This, Xander concludes, is probably meant to excuse the injuries to his hands. </p><p>No one seems to be questioning it immediately. Xander lets himself be bundled off to the nearest hospital, the knowledge that a log will be made of all his injuries hanging vaguely over his head. Leo and Ryoma both go with him — Leo for the legal matters, because for all his merits Ryoma is neither related to nor married to Xander, and Ryoma himself because among them he is currently the best at staying upright, and Xander is undeniably comforted by his presence. </p><p>At the hospital there is antiseptic, anaesthetic, and stitches. A tetanus shot features, which is practical but not enjoyable. Xander sees but doesn’t feel much of the repair work. He also sees Leo attempting to refuse medical attention, and frowns at his brother over that. He can’t quite seem to find the words to persuade him, but when he has Leo’s attention, he manages a look that’s somewhere between stern and concerned. “I’m <em>fine</em>,” Leo says, which Xander knows is a lie. </p><p>Xander looks over Leo’s shoulder to Ryoma, who is lurking with some concern. Ryoma nods, and as a mercy seems to know exactly what Xander means. He steps up to drop a hand on Leo’s shoulder, ostensibly companionable, except for how pointed Ryoma’s accompanying look is, and how visibly Leo flinches. “I can smell your burns,” Ryoma says, very quietly. “I do not know how heavy a blade Raijinto may have had with you. Will you <em>please</em> let a professional look?”</p><p>Leo’s frame is rigid, but he relaxes by slow degrees. “Ugh,” he says, resigned. “Electrical burns. Let’s see... well, there are those walls we destroyed. I haven’t had to explain those to anyone yet. Garon took an interest in remodeling and didn’t get reputable contractors, something went wrong, I didn’t realize how bad it was at first...” He spins a second loop of excuses together as easy as that, Ryoma nodding agreeably, and — with one last look at Xander to make sure Xander means it — Leo sighs and drags his feet off to go and get a nurse’s attention.</p><p>For all his complaints about it, when Leo is finally set up with treatment for burns, exhaustion, and dehydration, he looks sullenly content in the next bed over, Brynhildr jammed under his pillow in what is probably a contravention of some regulation or other. Privately Xander is glad for his brother’s company.</p><p>They want to keep both of them through to the next day for monitoring, citing shock and infection risks, but other than that neither Xander nor Leo are considered in significant danger, and are expected to be able to recover easily at home. Ryoma stays with them all the while, though with some pointed instructions from one of the attending nurses that they only have room for one family member to stay overnight, and as Ryoma is not technically family, could he restrict himself to visiting hours.</p><p>He can, though he doesn’t look exceptionally happy about it, and for the moment he settles down in a chair pulled up next to Xander’s bed. “I called your sisters,” he says. “I haven’t told them everything, but they’ll be here soon, I think. There’s some question about whether or not your house is structurally sound, at the moment— taking that into account, Mother’s invitation still stands, despite the changed circumstances. Our home is open to you.” </p><p>Xander wants to muster thanks, or— anything. The words won’t come. Instead he reaches out toward Ryoma, and remembers belatedly he’s meant to be trying not to use his hands. The left is worse off than the right, and he’s told they’ll heal cleanly enough, if he follows directions adequately. </p><p>Ryoma manages a small smile, though Xander thinks it looks shaky, and pulls his chair a touch closer, so he’s within Xander’s reach. Somewhere in the interim he has found clothes, including a violet button-up that doesn’t quite fit right across the shoulders. Xander thinks it might be his own. “Don’t worry,” Ryoma says. “We have everything handled. If Leo’s story draws too much scrutiny, I may have some contacts who can help smooth things over.”</p><p>Xander really does mean to be curious, but it’s hard to summon. He nods, assent and understanding, and leans back, glances around to check on Leo. He finds that Leo is still awake, eyes slitted as though it’s taking him some effort to stay that way, and is eying him. Xander can’t begin to guess why. “Xander,” Leo says, sounding troubled, and hesitates. “...I’m not going to ask if you’re all right. I know that’s a stupid question. It’s just— you haven’t said anything since we left home.”</p><p>He hasn’t, has he? It’s not that he <em>can’t</em>, necessarily, he thinks. It’s just that— the thought of picking words to describe what he feels, and then saying them aloud, somehow feels more monumental, more of a dragging effort than every step after his father had been. Xander shrugs lightly, flattening his mouth out so it doesn’t betray him. He’s sorry to worry Leo, he’s just— tired, and not even in a way that wants for sleep.</p><p>Leo makes a stiff gesture from his eyes to Xander, intending to indicate that he is watching. “I’m telling the nurses on you if you can’t talk tomorrow,” he says, and that thought alone weighs Xander’s shoulders down even further. </p><p>Ryoma checks the time on the wall clock, winces. “I suspect they’re going to ask me to leave soon. I meant to go and gather some of your things to take home, and be here in the early morning for you — would you like me to stay until your sisters are here?” </p><p>“Double check with the staff before you leave,” Leo says, despite the fact he was not invited to this conversation. “They might not let minors stay overnight.”</p><p>There’s another issue Xander can’t even begin to deal with. He looks at Ryoma, blankly hopeful and feeling more than a touch pathetic about it. If nothing else, he trusts Ryoma. With his own life; with his family’s. </p><p>“I’ll stay and see what Camilla and Elise want to do,” Ryoma assures him quietly. “If Elise isn’t allowed to stay, we can look after her for a night, if she’s amenable. Our home is open to all four of you, in any case.”</p><p>It’s a weight lifted. Xander breathes a sigh of relief, and tries reaching for Ryoma’s hand, this time more careful of his limitations. It’s awkward, indelicate, but with a little effort he manages a chaste kiss at the back of Ryoma’s hand. There’s something indescribably soft about the way Ryoma’s head tilts to watch even this small gesture with supreme gravity, the way his smile creases the corners of his eyes. Xander’s heart aches with a guilty fondness.</p><p>They stay there, hands gingerly linked, for a long while, as long as possible. Leo subsides at least to dozing. Xander himself might, even against the lure of the warmth of Ryoma’s touch, except that before he can, his sisters arrive, and Elise doesn’t wait for anyone before flinging herself on Xander sobbing. Ryoma moves away carefully, and with some maneuvering Xander gets his now-free arm around Elise’s shoulders. “I was so <em>worried</em>,” Elise wails into his chest.</p><p>Surely if Ryoma called them, he would have told Camilla and Elise, whoever he spoke to, that everything was fine? Xander glances up wondering, and finds Camilla lingering in the doorway, talking with Ryoma in low tones that Xander can’t quite hear. </p><p>“Camilla said you were fine but you’re in the <em>hospital</em> you wouldn’t be in the hospital if you’re <em>fine</em>,” Elise goes on, muffled and offended. Xander relaxes as he hears her tone shift from distraught to miffed, and he rests his chin on top of her head and waits for her to work through it. </p><p>There’s a level on which he’s waiting for her to ask about Father, but she never does. Instead, when Elise straightens, her eyes are bright but dry, and all she has for Xander is a lecture on following doctor’s directions <em>exactly</em>. She doesn’t demand Xander answer, either, only accepts his nods where they’re appropriate. </p><p>He is dearly glad she can still be so vibrant; and some part of him, too, is fiercely pleased that he will never have to see that shine dimmed by Father’s influence. </p><p>—It hits Xander again that Father is dead, and he doesn’t know what to do with that fact, nor even what emotions are at play. He’s not even sure how real it is. He stares helpless and transfixed at the flicker of Elise’s hands as she speaks, and doesn’t at all have any idea what she’s saying.</p><p>“Here, Elise,” Camilla says, swooping into Xander’s field of vision to nudge Elise’s shoulder. He’s never been more grateful for her in his life. “How about going back with Ryoma, hm? We’re going to be staying with his family for a little while while the police and the contractors go over our house. I’m sure he could use your help picking out some things to take with us.”</p><p>Elise frowns — well, pouts. “But,” she says. “What about Xander and Leo?”</p><p>“I’ll stay with our brothers tonight,” Camilla promises her, squeezing her shoulder. “And tomorrow morning we can all leave together. All right?” </p><p>There’s a certain stubborn set to Elise’s pout. Trying to figure out how to combat it is steadier ground, enough that Xander can draw breath easily again. He doesn’t immediately have a solution, however; and then he’s distracted briefly by Ryoma moving into his field of vision. Ryoma leans over the bed, leans down with his ponytail falling over his shoulder, and there’s the dry press of chapped lips against Xander’s forehead. </p><p>The gesture strikes the same aching fondness Xander had felt earlier. Impulsively, leaning into this in lieu of the feelings he doesn’t want to look at right now, Xander catches at him, jarring his right hand with the effort. “What is it?” Ryoma says, and “Oh—” as he goes where Xander leads, and for a brief moment nothing more, as Xander kisses him soundly.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” says Elise, sounding enlightened. “You didn’t say you were <em>dating</em>.” Just like that her opinion has reversed. Ryoma steps back, eyes dark and expression otherwise sheepish, and Elise moves around Xander’s bed toward him, head tilted back to size him up. “Okay. I’ll show you the important stuff, and help you set up whatever you need to, and we’ll keep each other from worrying. All right?”</p><p>“All right,” Ryoma echoes, sounding distinctly bemused. “...I appreciate your help.”</p><p>Now that it is her responsibility, of course, Elise is taking to it like a cheerful duck to a placid pond, and she snags Ryoma’s arm with the assumption of comfort to tug him off. “Tell me <em>everything</em>,” she’s demanding as they go, and Xander can’t help but smile after them.</p><p>Camilla drops herself into the chair Ryoma had lately been in, one leg hooked over the arm, and for what feels like a very long time indeed she only watches Xander, sizing him up. Under her gaze it’s harder to pretend all is well; and with Ryoma gone, practical though the division of labor is, Xander misses having his warmth to lean into. “You really don’t know how to let other people look after you, do you?” Camilla says eventually. Her voice is low, fondly resigned. “Dear, <em>dear</em> brother.”</p><p>Helpless, Xander shrugs. He hadn’t necessarily <em>meant</em> to force the issue, hadn’t meant for their father to—</p><p>Hadn’t meant for Leo to—</p><p>“I can see you thinking, you know,” Camilla murmurs dryly. “You can’t hide from me, Xander. I’m not going to make you talk about it, but don’t try to pretend to me, either. All right?” </p><p>Xander doesn’t know if he knows how to not at least try to put a good face on things. Elise has lately been sobbing on him because he isn’t all right — how is he meant to have any response to that other than trying to protect her from it? And true, that was Elise, and this is Camilla, who perhaps of all his siblings understands his need to protect them best; but he remembers when each of them was young, too. And he wishes — gods, how pointless the wishing — he wishes he could spare them the fear and the uncertainty and the pain.</p><p>Something in Camilla’s bearing softens. She straightens up in the chair only to lean forward, scooting the chair in until she can rest her elbows in the free space on the bed to Xander’s side. “Let us handle everything else,” she says. “I have the legal side of things. Tomorrow I’m going to call Corrin’s school and arrange for her to come home early. We’re easing in on winter break, anyway— I’m sure I can convince them to give her some extra time for bereavement. Leo isn’t allowed to handle anything else until whatever he’s done to himself has healed.”</p><p>They both pause, expecting Leo’s grumpy objection, but there’s only quiet — he must have finally fallen asleep. Camilla catches Xander’s eye and smiles, just a shade impishly. “See?” she says. “He’s not arguing. I’m right.”</p><p>Xander almost laughs — it’s more of a heavy exhalation — but he can feel the return smile pulling at his mouth. Camilla waves a hand airily. “Your boyfriend’s handling the practical things about living arrangements,” she goes on, and Xander chokes on his next breath. She’s not wrong— he just hadn’t thought to attach the term to Ryoma before. He feels his face heat and recognizes it as the exact reason for Camilla’s words. “So you don’t need to worry about that, either.” </p><p>He tries to think if there’s anything else he needs to do, any other responsibility to be handled, and comes up blank. </p><p>Camilla’s sidelong look is sly. “Long hair,” she says, and, “Grey eyes. Is he your something unwise?”</p><p>When Xander has hold of his breathing, he nods carefully. He remembers that talk with Camilla well — remembers, too, how much he’d tried to talk himself out of his growing attachment. It seems far distant, now, though rationally he knows it can’t have been more than two days since he cast that caution to the wind.</p><p>Affectionately, Camilla straightens long enough to pat his cheek. “He’s sweet,” she says. “I’m happy for you.” </p><p>She looks for a moment like she has something more to say, but in the end if there is something, she doesn’t say it, only sits back in the chair and settles down. There she stays, as lights are turned down and time marches on, and Xander slips into restless sleep.</p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. lay them straight</h2></a>
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    <p>“Sooooo,” says Elise, drawing it out with cheerful mischief. “How’d you meet each other?”</p><p>She’d managed to restrain much of her curiosity until they were out to the car — emptied earlier by Hinoka, mercifully, and now featuring only Siegfried quiescent and blanket-wrapped in the back seat. Now, though, she’s comfortable in the front seat, and beaming over at Ryoma. Her sort of cheer rather implies that there isn’t much option except to answer. </p><p>At least that one is an easier answer than ‘tell me everything.’ Ryoma puts the car in gear and phrases delicately. “It was at a charity fundraising event,” he says as they go. His sidelong impression of Elise is currently limited to flickering blonde as she moves and the scent of new grass. “I — wasn’t feeling well — so I stepped outside for a little while, and Xander was there. We spoke a little.” </p><p>Ryoma finds himself smiling at the recollection, entirely without his intent. He hadn’t precisely been thinking clearly at the time. In retrospect Xander’s stiff kindness is endearing; the later invitation carries equal measures of hunger and heartache.</p><p>Perhaps he will not tell Elise about the specifics there. </p><p>“Aww,” Elise says. She’s beaming. “Was it love at first sight?” </p><p>He laughs a little, shaking his head. She’s not — entirely wrong, really, though it’s probably better qualified as lust at first sight. Lust, and a yearning like homesickness. “I thought he was beautiful,” Ryoma says, and leaves it at that as he navigates out of the hospital parking lot. The sky overhead is the lovely deep blue of an ending dusk, and the moon is already risen, casting a benevolent waxing light which is mostly overridden by streetlights. </p><p>“<em>Huh</em>.” Elise mulls that over a bit. “Not handsome?”</p><p>Ryoma shrugs. “It’s not quite the same,” he says, “though I couldn’t say why not. Well— at the event, we misunderstood each other a little.” There’s a pause as he gets onto the highway, and tries and fails to mentally map back to the König house. “If I give you my phone, can you plot the route back to your house? I don’t remember it precisely.”</p><p>She holds her hand out, and Ryoma very carefully tugs it out of the pocket of his borrowed shirt with one hand, passing it over. “What’s the lock code?” she asks, and, without waiting for an answer, “Are you going to tell me the rest?”</p><p>“0-4-0-9,” he says. “Tell me which exit to take, first? I’d prefer not to miss it.”</p><p>“Fiiiine.” Elise doesn’t sound too genuinely upset about it as she brings up his map application. “Your lock screen’s cool.”</p><p>“My family manages a wildlife rehabilitation center, among other things,” Ryoma says by way of justifiable explanation. His lock screen is a picture of Hinoka and Takumi wrestling in the middle of the woods, neither one being particularly dignified about it. There’s nothing to say they aren’t only wolves, of course, but he’s reminded that he’s taking her home. She’d have to find out sooner or later, if she doesn’t know already. Does she? She’s not glowing, but that doesn’t mean much — it might not come on until later, or she might be wearing the same sort of ornament Xander does. </p><p>“<em>Ooooh</em>,” she says, with a little more feeling. “Oh— um, right, you want exit 29B. So... three more?”</p><p>“Thank you.” Ryoma calibrates accordingly, watching the signs go by. It’s too soon in the month to really be compelled to shift and run with the moon, but a car trip with Xander’s youngest sister lacks some of the ease it would with his own family. </p><p>He wishes he had thought to ask <em>any</em> of them before he left, how much Elise knows of the world beyond humans, how much he should say or wait for her siblings to fill in. A little late now. So here they are: the eldest of his family and the youngest of hers, stuck in a car together on perhaps the second-most awkward road trip Ryoma has ever had. </p><p>“How’d you misunderstand each other?” Elise prompts, after another exit’s gone by. </p><p>That’s right. She’d asked. Ryoma does some mental juggling. “We each thought the other wasn’t looking for a relationship,” he says finally. It’s close enough. “But we met again, and kept talking to each other, and—“ Words fail him for the grave determination of Xander’s stumbling through his feelings amidst the weight of what his father had done. Perhaps it’s best; Ryoma rather finds he wants to keep those moments for himself, anyway. “—we figured out how much we liked each other,” he finishes, wincing at how trite it sounds. “It wasn’t so dramatic as all that.”</p><p>“It sounds very romantic,” Elise says firmly. “I think it’s probably Camilla’s job to ask you about your intentions, so I’m going to just be happy for you, ‘kay?”</p><p>“All right,” Ryoma agrees, a little bemused. Determined quizzing from siblings hadn’t crossed his mind— well, it had once, and then Leo had stormed through their front door all sun-storm and vines, and that had rather rearranged what Ryoma thought of as <em>brotherly interrogation</em>. “I... appreciate it?”</p><p>He catches a flicker of golden pigtails in the corner of his eye as she nods emphatically, hard enough to send curls bouncing everywhere. “Good,” she says, sounding as though she’s trying to be stern. “Tell me about the wildlife?”</p><p>It’s a much easier topic. “What do you want to know?”</p><p>With Elise’s help, Ryoma finds the route easily, and once the conversation has turned away from the nature of his relationship, he finds it goes easier. He talks of conservation and wildlife, recalls some of Hinoka’s more adorable stories from the rehab center. Mentioning Hinoka means he has to take a brief sojourn to talk about his siblings, to which Elise responds with a bright intent, as though she’s taking notes for future reference. </p><p>In the middle of an anecdote about the opossum escape artists of last winter, they pull up to the König house, and Ryoma parks at the curb just in front, not bothering with parking around the corner. A quick check in the back seat reveals that Siegfried is still safely covered and looks like nothing more than blankets — it’s probably not at risk, but Ryoma prefers to know exactly where it is. </p><p>He gets out of the car once that’s settled, stretches his legs. Elise bounces toward the house, doesn’t even seem to bat an eye at the caution tape across the door. Somehow Ryoma had thought she might be more worried than that.</p><p>She goes for the light switch in the entryway, footsteps sure even in the blue-black dim, and makes a discontented sound as nothing turns on. “Oh no, is the power out?”</p><p>"They may have had to turn it off temporarily," Ryoma says, recalling Leo's excuse regarding where he got the electrical burns across his shoulders and right arm. That may not be so much of an excuse, truly; there are walls now simply missing, so much dust and splinters, which would have had wiring running through them as well. "There was some… ill-advised demolition."</p><p>His eyes adjust quickly in the dark to the bare amount of moonlight that seeps in. Not so good as it would be if he were a wolf at the moment, but better than a human's eyes, better than a waning moon. Enough that he can see Elise's exaggeratedly dramatic frown as she turns back toward him. "What's that supposed to mean?" she wants to know, coming back toward him.</p><p>"Some walls were knocked down." Delicately, Ryoma obscures just who knocked those walls down, and why, and how. He glances around, thinking. He might still have a flashlight in the glove compartment. Unless... "Can you make a light?"</p><p>"Umm," Elise says, drawing it out like she's thinking. "Oh! Yeah, I think I remember where the flashlights are."</p><p>Ryoma makes a mental mark toward the idea that she, too, may not know or recognize what she is. For the mean time he uses his phone to light their way, and Elise skips ahead, fearless, down a hall off to the left of the big central stairway. "This one?" she wonders aloud, and rustles through a tall closet that seems to mostly have linens. "Hm. Um, maybe the laundry room?"</p><p>She's been at boarding school, Ryoma recalls. Perhaps she has not spent very much time here recently. Patiently he tracks her toward the laundry room, where she displays her first stumble in the entire house, runs into the washing machine with a loud echoing clang of metal. "<em>Ow</em>," Elise says. She sounds more grumpy than pained. "Ow ow ow-- oh, here they are." In among the laundry supplies there's a basket of flashlights, which she requisitions; and under the light of the flashlight she hands Ryoma, he discovers that there are candles, lighters, and matches here as well. Power outage supplies, he supposes. With Xander oblivious, self-illumination couldn't have been a utility, especially if there were any non-familial staff. Were there? Ryoma hadn’t seen any, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.</p><p>"There we go!" she says, pleased, the grumpiness vanishing like clouds from the sun. "Okay. Definitely some clothes for each of us. Mmm... let's start with Xander's room. That's upstairs, and then we can work back down."</p><p>"Lead on," Ryoma says, and she does.</p><p>Elise has a briskly wild sort of efficiency in the way she takes them through the house and sorts through everyone's closets, running a bubbly commentary all the while. "I'm packing all colorful stuff for Leo 'cause he'll wear black all the time if you let him," she informs Ryoma, and, "We don't need a lot, right? You have a washing machine if we have to stay longer than that," and, "Oh, I almost forgot, I should grab Camilla's pliers and some materials, she'll go up the wall without something to do with her hands." It's illuminating, instructive on the dynamics of the family and how well Elise knows and loves her siblings.</p><p>They wind up with four makeshift overnight bags, all a little haphazardly packed and heavier than they look. Ryoma loads these into the back wheel-well, not examining the impulse to leave Siegfried its own space. "I guess that's all we need," Elise says, frowning in thought, as Ryoma closes the doors. "If Corrin does come back before we're back, she'll have her own stuff with her..." This, where nothing else has, troubles her, but before more than a few seconds pass Elise has put a smile back on. She bounces on the spot, tilts her head back to beam at Ryoma. "Okay! Let's go, then."</p><p>They go. It's fully and properly dark now, the sky full of stars that fade as they go through the city and become much more evident again once they're out to the woods. Ryoma wonders if he can pass any wolves she might see off as dogs long enough to get Elise settled for the night and then simply not talk about it until all her family is there. "It's beautiful," Elise says, staring out the window as he makes the turn to the gravel drive that marks the approach to the house. "I never knew all this forest was here."</p><p>"Many people forget until it's right in front of them," Ryoma says. He'd be more annoyed by the passing-over of wild spaces if it weren't for the fact that Mother's wards are designed to do just that. They park; he pulls bags out of the car, and Elise insists that he let her take at least two.</p><p>Since he's about to pick up Siegfried, he doesn't argue, just slings the remaining two over his shoulder awkwardly. He's left staring at a blanket-wrapped sword in dim carlight and feeling faintly foolish as he reaches for it. It shouldn't be this <em>much</em> to simply pick up a sword. And yet it is, really. Even through the blanket, the metal feels cool and heavy, and Ryoma has the warning sense that he is only <em>tolerated</em> prickling through his fingertips and up his forearms, hissing faintly like static in his ears.</p><p>"Everything okay?" Elise says, coming around.</p><p>"I'm all right," Ryoma says, and straightens, hip-checks the door to a close. He doesn't worry about locking it, but instead leads the way inside.</p><p>No one's immediately waiting to welcome them in the mudroom. Ryoma scrapes his shoes off his feet without bending over, and Elise mimics him, looking wide-eyed around as she does before inelegantly kicking her shoes into the corner after his. He is, perhaps, not setting a good example. "Everything looks really <em>warm</em>," she says aloud, sounding delighted, and with her free hand pokes at one of the brushes mounted at about wolf-height. "What're these for?"</p><p>"...brushing." He's evading terribly, and he knows it, but he still hasn't concluded how to tell her anything. Or what to tell her. "Here, this way."</p><p>"Brushing what?" Elise wants to know, as he leads her up the stairs. The guest room Xander and Leo had used previously is still more or less prepared, and they can get the next one over ready, too, Ryoma figures. They don't have more than that – the house is big enough for a pack, but the consequence of that is that an entire pack lives in it – but if all else fails, he doesn't mind sleeping on someone else's bed in wolf form for a little while.</p><p>Ryoma doesn't immediately answer, and she comes to her own cheerful conclusions. "Oh! Do you have dogs? We never got to have pets, Camilla said it wouldn't be fair with us off at boarding school all the time but I always thought I'd want a dog or a cat when I grow up. Maybe both." Elise pauses to consider this with all due gravity as Ryoma shoulders open the second guest room door and sets the bags against the wall.</p><p>Siegfried he keeps secure in the crook of his arm, preferring not to see whatever consequences might follow if he drops it. As Elise is poking around the room, Ryoma steps out of this one and down the hall to the first, where he finally sets Siegfried down carefully on the dresser. There's a quiet hum in his bones even when he's put it down. "Xander will be home tomorrow," Ryoma tells the sword softly, ridiculous as it is. "Please be patient until then."</p><p>The sword says nothing.</p><p>Ryoma leaves this room to find Elise in the hall. "Which room is this?" she wants to know, glancing up and down the hall. "And where is everything? The bathroom and stuff?"</p><p>"The second guest room," Ryoma says, and leads her toward the bathroom for the next part of her question. "Here. I should have asked— have you eaten? Are you hungry?"</p><p>Once she's poked around the bathroom, Elise gives this, too, some serious thought, with one hand over her stomach as though to commune with it. "Mmmmaybe," she decides, stepping out of the room again. "I wasn't really thinking about it."</p><p>"We'll see what's in the fridge, then." Ryoma points them down the hall toward the stairs again, but his luck runs out; a leggy wolf with half-grown reddish fluff rounds the corner before they can and stops, ears flickering in all directions as she assesses.</p><p>Elise gasps with delight and immediately flops down on the floor, holding a hand out in invitation. "You <em>do</em> have dogs," she says, near to vibrating.</p><p>Ryoma opens his mouth to say— something. He doesn't know what's going to come out. Sakura eyes Elise thoughtfully, licking her nose, just the very tip of her tail flicking back and forth. She sidles closer. Elise holds her breath.</p><p>"...she's shy," Ryoma says weakly.</p><p>"I can be patient!" Elise contests, despite that she's almost wiggling on the spot. "What kinda dog is she? How old is she?"</p><p>Ryoma really can't keep this up. He sighs, resigned to the imminent fate. "Elise," he says, gently, and hunkers down next to them. He could shift, but it would be very awkward in the borrowed clothes he's still wearing. "I wasn't sure how to tell you earlier. I... that is, my family. We're werewolves."</p><p>It is not the gentlest way he could have put it. He's at a loss, however, for how to <em>delicately</em> announce that the entire house is full of people who spend a good deal of time being four-legged.</p><p>Elise turns wide eyes on him, then back to Sakura. "...<em>Really</em>?" she says, a high note like a squeak in her voice. "That's possible?"</p><p>"Yes," Ryoma says, folding his legs under him. Sakura, meanwhile, sniffs Elise's almost-forgotten outstretched hand with skittish determination, whiskers flickering with each inhalation. "Not everyone in this house is, but myself and all of my siblings, to begin with, are. This is Sakura."</p><p>"<em>Wow</em>," Elise says earnestly, and looks back to the wolf. "It's nice to meet you, Sakura! I'm Elise."</p><p>Sakura scoots a few steps closer and sits down, tail curved neatly to the side. She hesitates, then offers a paw as if to shake. With dignity, Elise clasps it. "You're not joking, right?"</p><p>"I promise." Ryoma gives Sakura an encouraging smile even when she takes her paw back and settles again. "We can't shift clothing, however."</p><p>"Ohhhh, that makes sense." Elise eyes Ryoma again. "I guess you'll have to show me later then. ...Um. However you can."</p><p>"I don't mind," Ryoma says, because he doesn't. While Elise is focused on him, Sakura, emboldened, is leaning forward to sniff further, though she straightens up to prim sitting when she realizes he's looking at her. "Why don't we head down to the kitchen? You thought you might be hungry, didn't you?"</p><p>Elise makes a face, but she scoots back and stands up. "Yeah. Um— I'll see you later, Sakura!" She sounds, Ryoma thinks, a little uncertain still; but other than that, she's treating the wolf before her just like she would a person.</p><p>Sakura's tail flips with a little more enthusiasm. She, too, rises, stretches out front and back, and then trots off.</p><p>Ryoma shows Elise to the kitchen. It's spacious, as kitchens go, and well-tiled, in most places opting for polished stone over wood. One segment of the counter is dedicated for a cutting board, which is easily removable for cleaning – after all, they deal with a lot of raw meat, and being wolves half the time doesn't excuse them from food safety practices as humans. Mostly.</p><p>Two fridges are required to support this many wolves, and there's a pair of chest freezers along the wall beside them, where they store meat brought down as wolves and not fully devoured at the time. Ryoma idly checks one of those as a matter of habit, and closes the lid reassured; someone's made a gardener's day with the amount of venison neatly stored for later. The right fridge is more likely to have something suitable for human consumption.</p><p>He cracks that one open, and stands back a pace, leaving enough room for Elise to peer in. She's a little aimless about it, poking hesitantly at resealable containers and condiments. "It's gonna sound weird," she says, "but is there anything like, um. Breakfast food?"</p><p>There's nothing in the fridge quite fitting that description, except the half-dozen eggs which are all that remain of a carton of twenty-four. Ryoma eyes the empty spaces ruefully. They've tried keeping chickens. It didn't work well.</p><p>Elise chews her lip over the concept of how she might like her eggs, which doesn't seem especially promising. "I'm sure there's waffle mix around here somewhere," Ryoma offers. Sweet might be better, depending on why she's after breakfast food.</p><p>"Not waffles," Elise says, a little too quickly to be entirely happy. "But— pancakes? They're close."</p><p>Ryoma gets the eggs out and tries to remember where the griddle is.</p><p>As he's hunting down the dry goods and wishing he cooked for himself more often, Elise pulls the fridge back open to get out the other things they might need. Ryoma's staring blankly into a cabinet and trying to remember what he needs besides flour when there's a soft nudge at the side of his knee.</p><p>Next to him is Sakura, still wolf-shaped but now with a plush robe in her jaws. She backs up a step and looks up at Ryoma with hopeful eyes, tail still moving just slightly. "Ah," Ryoma says, and bends down to take the robe from her. "Of course. Elise, will you come here for a moment?"</p><p>She's over in the next few seconds, milk carton in hand, and looks from the robe to Sakura. "Oh!" she says, visibly making the connection with some cheer. "Hi again!"</p><p>Ryoma holds the robe up carefully for Sakura, as a curtain, and turns his face away. His ears are still sharp enough to hear the sound of her shift as her mass rearranges. She's slower than he is, but there aren't any hitches in her change, and the speed will come with practice and certainty. "Um," Sakura says. "...Hi, Elise." Her tiny smile is audible in her voice, and a moment after that Ryoma feels the faint tugs on the cloth in his hands as Sakura puts her arms into it. "You can let go now."</p><p>He does. "<em>Wow</em>," Elise breathes. "You really changed! That's so cool!"</p><p>When Ryoma turns back, Sakura is comfortably enshrouded, and blushing faintly, head half-ducked with the praise. "No one's ever really told me that before," she says.</p><p>"Well, duh, you live with werewolves," Elise says comfortably. She leans in to look up at Sakura's face, beaming. "It's normal for you. I've never met a werewolf before! Except upstairs just now, I guess. Oh! Do you see in color?"</p><p>Briefly Sakura looks at Ryoma, as if he's going to provide answers; and he could, but he'd rather encourage Sakura making friends and stretching out, even if it's just a little. He's still available to hide behind if it gets too much. "...kind of," Sakura says. Her shoulders have come up, and it takes some visible work for her to put them down again. "It's, um. Limited? When we're in wolf shape, we're missing one of the cones humans have, so it's just... flatter, I guess. But it's not black and white, either, like some people think. What are you making?"</p><p>"Pancakes!" Elise chirps. "I found the milk and the butter, but I couldn't find any whipped cream. Cones? I don't think I've learned about those in biology yet."</p><p>Sakura follows Elise over to the fridge to help her look, and Ryoma goes back to his part of things. As he remembers that they'll need baking powder, and also that the griddle will need oiling to make sure they can get the pancakes up again, Sakura starts to go through the parts of the eye with Elise. There's a brief aside to debate melting butter on the stove versus in the microwave, and then they proceed into further queries about wolves. Sakura grows more confident as she goes on, and Ryoma sifts the dry ingredients together with a warm glow of fond pride threaded through him.</p><p>"Wanna see something neat?" Elise is saying when they come over with their own mixing bowl, full of the whisked-together eggs and milk and butter. "I'm not really supposed to show anyone, buuuuut I bet you're pretty good at keeping secrets, right?"</p><p>"Um," says Sakura, as a first reflex, and, "Pretty much?"</p><p>Elise sets the bowl down with a flourish and pulls her hair up, twisting her pigtails around each other to make them stay back for a moment. Ryoma glances over and catches a flash of twisted gold and green, something like an earring—</p><p>Ah. He feels, in retrospect, rather foolish. Of course Elise hadn't mentioned anything; she had assumed he, too, was human. Now she fiddles with the catch on the earring, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she fusses with it, and finally pulls it off. As soon as she puts it in her pocket, she starts glowing like sunlight, all through her hair and skin. "Tada!" she says cheerfully.</p><p>"You <em>glow</em>," Sakura says, wide eyed.</p><p>"Only at night," Elise confides. "But I can't just, you know, go shut myself in a closet every night, especially not during the winter, so Camilla made me this!"</p><p>"Have you <em>always</em> glowed?" Sakura wants to know.</p><p>"Uh-uh." Elise shakes her head. "Here, c'mon, let's stir these together. I was just about eleven when it started." She wrinkles her nose at Ryoma as he adds the dry to the wet bowl. "You don't look surprised at <em>all</em>."</p><p>"I already knew Xander did the same thing," Ryoma says, dryly mostly because he's annoyed at what worry and thoughtlessness made him miss.</p><p>Elise taps her palm to her forehead. "Oh, duh. ...You know, though, I've seen Leo do it, but Xander... he doesn't take his off a lot. I don't think I've seen him do it... like, ever. Not a lot, anyway. How'd you catch him?" She makes grabby gestures at the bowl.</p><p>"He thought I was a wolf." Ryoma cedes the mixing bowl to her, and she takes over beating everything together, wielding her whisk sternly. "And I don't think he realized what he was doing. It's... complicated."</p><p>"...Yeah," Elise agrees, between her efforts. "Xander never talked about it, but Camilla and Leo would. I'll have to ask him tomorrow." Tomorrow, of course, he will be home with them; tomorrow everyone can exchange notes and speak of what they know, and look at the ways they plan to move forward.</p><p>Right now, pancakes. Ryoma starts the griddle heating.</p><p>"—Oh," Elise says, with some concern, hesitating over the pancake mix. "Are you allergic to chocolate? I think dogs are, right? I was going to put chocolate chips in it if you had any, but..."</p><p>Sakura giggles very, very quietly. "Not in this shape," she says. "It's okay. There's some over the stove." In the high-up cabinets, the ones wolves absolutely can't reach.</p><p>"Awesome!" They both turn pleading looks at Ryoma, who has easily a foot on Sakura, to say nothing of how short Elise is.</p><p>He can't resist the looks, really; so he reaches the chocolate chips down for them, and Sakura whips cream as Elise cooks the pancakes one by one, and they put together pancakes that should really be classed as dessert instead of breakfast food. Elise is still glowing carelessly as they settle down in the breakfast nook to eat.</p><p>Ryoma breathes easier than he had, reassured by sisters conspiring, by how calmly wolf and sunlit mystery are collaborating in the pursuit of better pancakes. It's simple, like this, to believe everything will be all right: a good guard against worry, through till morning.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. the peanut gallery speaks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Words prove still to be difficult in the morning, even though by all rights Xander should at least feel like speaking enough to convince Leo that he's fine, and does not need further examination. Somehow it winds up easier to just let Leo scowl and drag a nurse over to look at him, shine a penlight in his mouth and assess whether there's anything damaged in his throat.</p><p>There isn't that a cursory examination can find, and Xander shakes his head when asked about pain. Honey tea is recommended anyway, just in case. Xander's left with a nettled Leo and a mildly amused Camilla, and the faintest beginnings of a headache. Not speaking isn't really getting in his way at the moment, and he's sure if it's urgent he'll be able to muster something like words. It's only that everything still feels very hard, right now.</p><p>Not needing to handle anything at all is a relief, whether it's paperwork or transportation or the logistics of how people are getting from place to place. Xander is happy enough to simply sit and be.</p><p>Elise and Ryoma turn up as soon as they're allowed to. Elise has a bag full of fresh clothes for Leo and Xander both, though Xander notes with some amusement she's forgotten socks. He's not going to mention it, and Leo is too busy scowling over the fact that Elise has brought him a green shirt and blue jeans to comment on anything else that might be missing. Xander's own clothes have been chosen with deference to the fact that buttons are going to be difficult to handle – he'd genuinely forgotten he owned this turtleneck, but it's soft and easy, and the weight of Ryoma's regard when Xander returns dressed is definitely worthwhile to remember.</p><p>"Can your car fit all of us?" Leo wants to know, with a suspicious eye at Ryoma, when they're all ready to go. "I seem to recall it being on the small side."</p><p>"If Elise doesn't mind taking the middle seat." Ryoma smiles at her when she sticks her tongue out at him. "I do appreciate your navigation, Elise, but realistically you're the narrowest person here."</p><p>His word choice is better than he knows, as he has avoided implying that Elise is actually <em>small</em>. She concedes with her chin tilted up, imperious, and goes to hug Xander instead of arguing. Xander catches Ryoma's eyes over her head, finds him warm and fond, and any worry Xander might have had for how their families will get along begins to dissipate.</p><p>Between Leo and Camilla, formal discharges from the hospital are handled without Xander having to do anything at all save lean quietly next to Ryoma. Xander's given a sheet of care instructions for the injuries to his hands, all of which look fairly straightforward. In deference to not doing much with his hands, Xander hands it off to Ryoma, who tucks it in the bag with the clothes from the night before.</p><p>All the way out to the parking lot, Elise is vibrating very faintly, like she's excited about something – Xander knows very well what this looks like, and isn't sure why she hasn't burst out with it yet. She's being remarkably patient, for her, to the point that she even willingly puts herself into the middle of Ryoma's backseat as soon as the car is unlocked.</p><p>With a tilt of her head, Camilla gestures Xander toward the front, with the same faint, amused smile she’s been wearing for the better part of an hour. She and Leo bracket Elise in the back, and as soon as all the doors are shut and Ryoma's starting the car, Elise finally bursts out with what she'd been holding on to. "<em>Did you know Ryoma's family can turn into wolves</em>."</p><p>They hadn't addressed that yesterday, had they. In retrospect, Xander supposes it would have been hard to have Elise overnight and conceal that there were wolves in the house. And evidently Ryoma had been of the opinion that there wouldn't be any trouble with Elise learning about the pack.</p><p>Leo looks unimpressed; but Camilla says "<em>Oh</em>," with a thoughtful sort of wonder. "I had wondered. I didn't think you were human, but I couldn't think what else might be involved."</p><p>Ryoma makes a wry face in the rear view mirror. “I really didn’t think it was obvious.”</p><p>Xander had no idea until he was told, but he’s aware he’s not precisely a good example in this case, and there’s a matching curiosity about how Camilla would have known. Through the mirror he sees her tap her fingers together. “You don’t react to me quite the same way most people do,” she says. “In most cases, people either ignore me completely or can’t look away.”</p><p>“Ah,” Ryoma says politely. “...I didn’t notice.”</p><p>“Yes,” she says, “That’s rather the point. My mother had some sort of fire in her— I’m not certain what. It lends to fascination.” She sighs softly, and sits back. “That’s enough of that, I think. Is there anything else we should <em>all</em> know?”</p><p>Mikoto comes to mind first, and Xander makes a note to tell his siblings if it slips Ryoma’s mind for being simply part of his everyday life, but evidently there has been too much in the air about her recently for him to forget. “My mother isn’t a wolf,” Ryoma says. It looks like a veneer of calm over something tenser, judging by the way his fingers on the steering wheel tap a quick staccato. “It’s for the best that one doesn’t talk about what she is, even if you think you know.”</p><p>“That’s certainly an ominous warning.” The suspicion, even in Camilla’s light tone, is plain. “And why is that?” </p><p>It takes Ryoma some careful time to place his words around it. “A long time ago, Mother ran away from something,” he says. “It may be safe now, or it may not; there is little way to tell except by testing it. What I can say is that her wards are very, very good, and for the last fifteen years we have all been safe. We are circumspect because we prefer to be careful, and would not like to lose her.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Camilla considers. Xander can just see Leo shifting, a little uncomfortably. Ryoma has made no mention of Leo’s ingress and subsequent naming, and it feels like a month ago instead of the few days that it was, but it’s more clear now that they may have put Mikoto in some sort of danger. It’s poor repayment, as guests.</p><p>Camilla doesn’t add anything more as they go on, but it isn’t the sort of closure that lends itself to carefree, happy conversation. </p><p>Xander wonders where Siegfried wound up. He knows it was put into this car at some point, but it obviously cannot now still be here — the backseat is full. And besides, he rather thinks he would feel it. </p><p>“We need to relay that last— thing to your mother, too,” Leo says, rather abruptly, looking at Ryoma. “I don’t know what to make of it.”</p><p>That’s saying something, for Leo. Ryoma lifts his shoulders slightly. “I thought much the same,” he says. “We can all speak to Mother about next actions once we have you settled.”</p><p>“I suppose I’ll save my curiosity until then,” Camilla says wistfully. “It’ll save everyone time that way.”</p><p>“Awww,” says Elise, who had clearly been hoping for something different. </p><p>They’re going to have to tell Elise and Camilla about Corrin, as well. Xander wants there to be some way to tell Elise without also telling her that their father was a murderer, and several times over, but he can’t think of one right now, and the weight of that, too, lands solidly on his shoulders. He can’t think his way out of that, can’t find any way to explain no matter how he turns it this way and that in his head. He doesn’t even know—  has anyone told Elise their father is dead? How are they supposed to protect her from all of this?</p><p>Arrival at the pack’s house happens at some point while Xander’s chasing this issue in fruitless circles. His first jolt out of his thoughts is Ryoma reaching over to tap his knee, and at first the change in surroundings is disorienting, before Xander realizes what must have happened. Elise is the first one out of the car, bounding ahead up the path to the front door. Despite her enthusiasm she still has to wait for Ryoma to unlock it, and she spends all that time bouncing from one foot to the other, completely failing to contain her impatience. Ryoma is laughing by the time everyone’s inside. </p><p>It’s a good sound. Xander breathes a little easier, buoyed for the moment as he follows them inside. </p><p>Elise gets her shoes off and prances out of the mudroom with an easy familiarity, impressive for having spent only one night there. Xander’s the last in — he locks the door behind them absently, wincing as the decision reminds him that his hands are still injured. At least these shoes don’t have laces.</p><p>Hinoka meets them before more than a step or two into the entry hall, with a flat look at Leo before she focuses on Ryoma. “It’s doing it again,” she says, cryptically unhappy. “We need to figure out what this is.”</p><p>Ryoma tilts his head as though listening, and for a long moment everyone is quiet. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, save some vague rumbling sounds in the distance. The vents, or wolves wrestling, or both. “Has anyone else heard anything?”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” she says. “Will you just— come down to the music room for a second?” </p><p>Ryoma nods, glances back at the rest of them. “Ah... Elise, can you show Camilla where the library is?” </p><p>“Why doesn’t Leo have to come with us?” Elise wants to know, apparently on the verge of a pout.</p><p>Camilla clears her throat very gently. “I’ve never been here before,” she reminds Elise. “I might get lost without you.” It’s a clever piece of misdirection; Xander watches her fondly, feels the corners of his mouth almost tick up.</p><p>Elise sighs heavily, but takes Camilla by the hand and inside of a moment or two is brightening up again. “Meet us there in a bit, okay?”</p><p>This leaves Leo with a hand on the messenger bag with Brynhildr inside, Hinoka looking as if she’d rather be a wolf, and Ryoma, who seems genuinely concerned in a way Xander has not often had to see from him. Xander wants to ask what all this is about, but— well, he’ll see soon enough, as he hasn’t been asked to leave with his sisters. There’s really no need to explicitly ask. He shifts a little closer to Ryoma anyway, not quite so bold as to reach out, only seeking to be nearer.</p><p>The movement catches Ryoma’s attention, and he pauses to smile at Xander, though his eyes are still tight and worried. Then his gaze shifts to Leo. “You don’t hear or sense anything out of the ordinary?”</p><p>Leo pauses, and then goes ahead and takes Brynhildr out of his bag, spreads one hand flat on the cover. “...there might be <em>something</em>,” Leo says, squinting distantly. “But if there is, I don’t know what it is.”</p><p>“Music room,” Hinoka says cryptically, and turns around and starts walking. </p><p>It’s left to Ryoma to explain, which he does as they go. “For a little while now, Hinoka’s been hearing something like a humming, more or less from the music room— which is soundproofed. It’s happened a few times. I can stop her from hearing it temporarily, but that doesn’t solve the root problem. It’s also not a sound, per se, that’s just the easiest way for whatever it is to translate through our senses. I suspect it’s magic, but I’m not certain what kind.”</p><p>“That’s leading,” Leo mutters, but his expression is sharp and interested.</p><p>The music room isn’t so very far off, and Xander remembers it well, from when he and Ryoma had spoken there. It looks, when Hinoka flicks the light on, much the same as it had, nothing visibly changed. Except—</p><p>When Xander steps into the room behind Ryoma, he finds that he knows exactly where Siegfried is: upstairs in the guest room, laid flat on the dresser with all due respect, and waiting for his hand. He stops in his tracks, brow knit. In Leo’s hands, Brynhildr’s pages flicker. </p><p>“The last time I investigated this,” Ryoma starts, and stops, frowning distantly. He steps across the room, between the covered drum-kit and the carefully stored instruments, to the display case at the far wall. Gingerly he lays his hand against the glass, and just as quickly yanks it back, a brilliant blue spark tracking his fingertips and cracking the air with a sharp, punishing scent that even Xander can smell. </p><p>“...well, there’s your problem,” Leo says dryly. “I can tell from here that part is Raijinto. You’re not going to get anything with it being like that.”</p><p>Ryoma thumps his palm against his forehead and steps back. “I don’t <em>think</em> about it,” he says, sounding annoyed. “It’s just been – there – since... since it came to me. Hinoka? Will you come here a moment?”</p><p>Hinoka has stopped just inside the door, on the opposite side from Leo, with her arms folded and a mulish expression on her face. “I don’t <em>want</em> to,” she says. </p><p>“You’re the one hearing it,” Leo says. “Aren’t you?”</p><p>“Yes, but I don’t want to be.” She comes off the wall with her shoulders up. “Fine, all right, I’ll go touch the cursed instrument case.” </p><p>For all that she’s complaining, once she’s made up her mind, Hinoka acts with determination, striding across the room. She hesitates only once, in front of the case, and then reaches out and sets her palm against the glass. As she does something inside the case lights up, hums like a plucked string that cuts through Xander to resonate in his bones. He gasps with the force of it, and he can see that Leo’s eyes have gone wide, too. “What <em>is</em> that?” Leo wants to know.</p><p>“It’s a shamisen,” Ryoma says, which doesn’t answer the actual question. “Here, let’s... open that.”</p><p>Wordless, Hinoka slides the glass aside and reaches into the case, and when she turns around she’s holding the shamisen awkwardly. It’s a long-necked instrument, with three prominent tuning keys and a boxy base, and there are characters Xander doesn’t recognize burnt into the neck, under the strings. There’s something just a little off about it, and as Hinoka continues to hold it, one-handed and stretched away from her body, the strangeness becomes clear: one of the strings is notably thicker than the others, and the longer Hinoka holds it, the brighter it begins to glow.</p><p>“It’s like Raijinto, isn’t it,” Hinoka says dully. Her free hand flexes and settles, not reaching for the string. “This is Fujin’s.”</p><p>The shamisen hums, and a soft wind picks up, as if in answer. </p><p>“I don’t <em>want</em> it.” Hinoka’s cross now, voice gaining strength, and she glances between the others in the room as though looking for someone to hand it off to. “Can’t I say no? I just— want to be me. I didn’t <em>ask</em> for a myth to wake up in the music room, and I don’t have any kind of a use for it— can’t you tell that, you stupid thing? <em>Pick someone else</em>. I have two perfectly good siblings, talk to them about it.”</p><p>“Uh,” says a voice behind Xander. Automatically he steps to the side, glances back. In the door there’s a teenager with an ashy blond ponytail that tames only slightly better than Ryoma’s. Xander thinks, from pictures, this is probably Takumi. “What are you <em>doing</em> in here? I could hear it from all the way across the house.”</p><p>Without a single further hesitation, Hinoka turns on the spot, whirls as if she’s pitching a baseball, and throws the entire shamisen straight at Takumi.</p><p>Instinctively Xander tries to catch, swiping at the projectile regardless of injured hands. He misses by a mile, but apparently he didn’t need to worry. Takumi, despite his startled squawk, puts his hands up to shield his face and the shamisen thumps solidly into them, and immediately he’s wreathed in something soft and blue and stirring, plucking at the end of his ponytail. "What," Takumi says, and then his eyes glaze over blue too, dimly radiant.</p><p>"...um," Hinoka says. "...Takumi?"</p><p>He's still present and responding, at least; he holds up one finger in a <em>wait</em> sort of a gesture. Ryoma had taken a step toward him, now pauses, surely at least in part because a sterner wind has picked up around Takumi.</p><p>Impossible to tell from here, really, what's going on between the two of them. Xander can still feel Siegfried, unarguably present in an emphatic sort of a way— as though it means to stake a claim. As if Xander would reach for what Takumi holds, when he barely knows the sword that has been in his hands to begin with.</p><p>The blue wind wavers, swirls. Takumi is frowning, head bent over the shamisen as though to listen to it, eyes still curiously blank-blue distant. "You can stop yelling now," he says, and, "...please?"</p><p>Something chilly plucks at Xander's hair now, too.</p><p> "I get it," Takumi says, sounding a touch pained. "No, I get it, but you need someone, and we might need you. It's not like anyone else's is less than a lifetime commitment, right? —Are you gonna be super weird about it?"</p><p>The wind around him turns denser, higher, and sound is temporarily lost in the rush of it. Ryoma starts forward again as though to do something, and sparks crackle at his hands and feet, as a barrier instead of a bearing of power. Discontented, Ryoma settles again.</p><p>Whatever amends Takumi needs to make to the divine relic, he surely makes them; gusts die down, and he's left rumpled and wind-tossed with only the barest of stirrings around his ankles. He lets out a breath, gasps for the next.</p><p>The shamisen hums, and it sounds contented.</p><p>“Yeah,” Takumi says, the light in his eyes fading, leaving a distant human gaze, vaguely fond. “Yeah, okay. Here.” He twists one of the tuning keys, loosening the glowing string, and with only that little help it slithers free to coil itself in a bright-lit lariat around his wrist. There it pulses several times, eventually finding a solid rhythm rather than random brightnesses; and eventually, apparently sated, it begins to slowly dim.</p><p>On shaky legs, clearly trying very hard to be calm, Takumi goes to put the shamisen, less the string, back on its stand in the case.</p><p>Hinoka steps aside so automatically that she stumbles, staring at him. “...I didn't know it would do that," she says, by way of apology. "Are you— all right?"</p><p>Takumi shrugs, closing the glass again. “It just wanted balance,” he says, turning back to them and surveying the little group.  Now he looks uncomfortable with the weight of the regard, and tries to shrug Ryoma off when he comes to check Takumi over for injuries. “I'm fine, c'mon. —I think it’s been trying to help protect us, and with a bunch of <em>other</em> whatever you call them, divine artifacts, in the house, it was, uh. Jealous?”</p><p>Now that Xander thinks of it, the sense of Siegfried in the back of his own head has faded. He’s pretty sure it’s where he thought it was, but its existence isn’t shown sharp-shadowed on the wall of his mind any more. </p><p>“...<em>Huh</em>,” Leo says, with tones of great interest. “So, what exactly is it?” He motions vaguely at Takumi, indicating the quieting band at his wrist. Without light it doesn’t look like much, just an off-white cord looped several times around and twisted through itself.</p><p>Takumi puts his other hand over it. “I think,” he says carefully, “it wants to be a bow. It feels like... it was, once. The string is all that’s left, but...”</p><p>“Weren’t you and Sakura talking about what the best wood to make bows out of is?” Hinoka wants to know, eyes sharp on her brother. She does, Xander notes, look better now: more relaxed, more settled in herself, just with this one change, this one shift of burdens. </p><p>“Yeah,” Takumi says. “That’s not an accident. I’ve got half the theory already.”</p><p>Ryoma moves toward him, reaching out to delicately offer a hand. Takumi looks at this, up at Ryoma’s face, then back at his hand, and with some blank confusion, puts his hand in Ryoma’s. There’s a brief stirring, something like a prickling sigh in the air, but no violent sparks. Ryoma breathes a sigh of relief. “We meant to go and talk to Mother,” he says delicately, now that he has everyone’s attention. “I think we should <em>all</em> do that now.”</p><p>Not quite as a group, they filter out to the hall, Hinoka darting ahead and trailed by annoyed noises from Takumi. Leo follows at a more sedate pace with a sigh. Xander, meanwhile, hangs back to wait for Ryoma, the last out of the room, and his reward is one of those soft, fond smiles, the ones which feel like he’s turning his face up to the sun. The hunger it sparks in him isn’t even carnal — just something aching, something that would begin to unfold in warmth. Like so many other things right now, Xander has no concept how to articulate it, and it leaves him looking helplessly at Ryoma, caught on the spot. </p><p>Ryoma reaches out for him easily, and tugs him out of the room. There’s a necessary interruption to handle the door and the light, but once his hands are empty Ryoma steps toward Xander again, a question in his outstretched fingers. </p><p>Xander nods without even quite understanding that question precisely; but he isn’t disappointed when Ryoma reaches up to cup his cheek, to brush some errant lock of hair back behind his ear. “You’ve been quiet,” Ryoma notes, with worry but without judgment. </p><p>Yes, he has. Xander nods at this as well, tilting his head slightly into that warm touch. </p><p>“All right,” Ryoma says at that, peaceable. His idly moving hand settles curved around the back of Xander’s neck, and he steps closer, leaving barely a breath of space between them. There’s another touch, light at Xander’s waist. “Forgive me if I presume—”</p><p>He does not. If anything, he’s too hesitant. Illustrating, Xander leans against him, boldly closing that little gap. Ryoma isn’t quite expecting it — he falters, but just for a moment before he loops an arm around Xander, shifts his weight to support. “Yes,” Ryoma says, after a moment. “Yes, I’m here. I— we do need to speak to Mother, regarding what’s happened, but with everyone else having seen what there is to say, I don’t think we need to stay long.” He’s kneading softly, perhaps unconsciously, at the nape of Xander’s neck. He’s welcome to do that for the foreseeable future. </p><p>The weight of responsibility sits a little less heavy, like this, and it’s easier in the solid warmth of Ryoma’s hold not to think of the things he doesn’t want to think of yet. Slowly Xander drops his head to rest on Ryoma’s shoulder. He knows they must go upstairs, but perhaps just a moment or two longer would be permissible. </p><p>“I can find you somewhere quiet, afterwards,” Ryoma offers. He turns his head, and his breath is warm against the curve of Xander’s ear. “With or without me.” </p><p>With, preferably. Xander finds he doesn’t want to be alone, still; the quiet would be deafening if it only had his heartbeat in it. Carefully he nods, without moving from Ryoma’s shoulder. </p><p>“Perhaps not the woods, this time of year.” A quiet laugh resonates in his chest. “Later. There is... much I want to show you, but it can wait. Shall we go?”</p><p>Xander would rather not, but if it’s just this one thing before an opportunity to hold and be held at leisure, it is more doable. He still stays there some few breaths longer, thinking of those potential days, where he and Ryoma can range through the woods at leisure, by wolf or by horse, and the outside world won’t need them at all. </p><p>Later, still. Xander lifts his head and regretfully disentangles himself from Ryoma; but when they go upstairs, they keep each other’s pace. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like there was something I meant to say about this chapter, but I can't remember what. Hmmm.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. cross-referencing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: additional memory issues</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma, with Xander, is the last up to the library, which surprises no one. Mother looks up from where she's bent over Takumi's wrist, examining the new addition, and all she has to offer is fondness. "There you are," she says, a little unnecessarily. Her eyes skip from Ryoma to Xander and back again. "I won't keep you very long. Sakura's already off showing Elise the house." Which, conveniently, leaves them free to discuss things like the death of Xander's father.</p><p>"We've already touched on the legal matters," Leo says, waving a hand vaguely as though to dismiss it all. "We haven't heard yet regarding the official determination on Garon's death, but I don't anticipate there'll be any actual problems there. We're more likely to have legal issues with the state of the house. And our original arrangement stands in that our family may stay here for a little while, as long as it takes to put our house back in order."</p><p>Ryoma doesn't think he's imagining Xander tensing beside him. He nudges softly, with the edge of an elbow, and nods to one of the free armchairs. Xander goes with the gesture, sitting down and leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. Ryoma could take up another chair, but doesn't really want to; he opts, instead, to sit on the arm of Xander's, and it doesn't look like it's unwelcome.</p><p>"Corrin's going to be on a plane home soon," offers Camilla. She has her chin in her hand and is surveying the room at large with narrow, thoughtful eyes. "Her semester would have been finished soon anyway – in light of family emergency, they're letting her take exams early and have an extended winter break. We'll discuss schooling in the new year when we come to it."</p><p>"It does seem like a problem for a little bit later on," Mother says, but softly, wistfully. Her fingers tap thoughtfully on the band around Takumi's wrist before she finally lets go. "Well. Is there anything from – the house – that I should know about?"</p><p>"We may need assistance going through everything that was in Garon's study," Leo admits. "There was a lot, and it was difficult to tell immediately all that was magical and all that wasn't. We just loaded anything that looked likely, in the rush. If I can borrow someone with a good sense of smell?"</p><p>Ryoma would volunteer, but he desperately wants to have some time open for Xander, and Takumi is raising his hand with a quick wave of acknowledgment anyway. "I don't mind," he says, though his posture is shoulders-up, curled in such a way that Ryoma isn't certain how much Takumi means that. "You just need someone to tell you what's weird, right?"</p><p>"...yes," Leo agrees. He sounds as dubious as Ryoma is.</p><p>"I can help with the tools, if nothing else," Camilla puts in. "I know things intended for magical crafting when I see them."</p><p>The look Leo gives her is only vaguely surprised before he settles. "That'll do, then. If there's anything else, we'll ask you?" This is directed at Mother, who nods. "There's one last thing. There was— something that seemed to come out of Garon's body, when he had collapsed. I have to admit, I don't have the slightest idea what it was yet."</p><p>Mother raises her eyebrows at this, makes a turning-over gesture with her hand as if to say <em>go on</em>. Leo hesitates, though, and looks at Ryoma.</p><p>Ryoma can only guess Leo is looking for extrasensory input; but he shrugs lightly, rests a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “I’m not certain either,” he says. “It had the same feeling or scent of cold that was lingering around the wards and Garon himself, but apart from that it only looked like a mass of light.”</p><p>“There might have been a face in it?” Leo puts forth, not sounding like he’s certain of that himself. “And it was... somewhere between blue and white. There was a voice, too, but I couldn’t tell you what it sounded like — it was more of an impression than an actual sound. It said...” He frowns faintly. “<em>Tell my sister I did what I could</em>, I think. I don’t know how it expected us to find a sister without any other means of identification, but—“</p><p>“Mother?” Ryoma cuts Leo off with it, because he’s actually paying attention to Mother instead of the recollection; and it’s because of that attention he sees how Mother’s face has frozen, how pale she has gone — and she is a pale woman to begin with, so the change is nearly ghostly.</p><p>Mother draws a deep breath and laces her fingers together tight. “My apologies,” she says softly. “A sound like cracking frost, or tapped glass, or the chime of a bell?”</p><p>“I—yes. What?” Leo stares at Mother again, taken aback. “Were you watching?”</p><p>“Only guessing,” Mother says, shaking her head. “The blue in fresh-fallen snow and the feeling of cold— these sound like— my sister. I have not seen Arete in fifteen years at least.”</p><p>“Arete?” Camilla says with interest, and Leo’s expression goes to something uncommonly wide-eyed and startled. “Our father’s second wife was named Arete. That’s hardly a common name.”</p><p>Under his hand, Ryoma can feel the tension in Xander’s shoulder. He can’t be precisely sure of the cause – outside of Xander’s father, of course – but nevertheless he shifts his weight on the arm of the chair, settles closer, so Xander will be reminded he is there. For his troubles Xander turns his head and looks up at Ryoma, something warm in the  way his eyes turn up, and he covers Ryoma’s hand with his to squeeze gently.</p><p>“Arete and I... left home at the same time,” Mother says. It sounds like she’s picking her words carefully again, dancing between what she may say and what the truth is and finding the narrow space between them. “I could not have looked for her without ceasing to hide, but I always hoped... will you tell me of what happened?”</p><p>Leo and Camilla trade a glance, something meaningful passing easily between them, and it’s Camilla who nods. “There isn’t all that much to tell,” she says apologetically. “Father didn’t marry her for several years after Katerina’s death— we’re all, shall we say, extramarital.”</p><p>“Bastards,” Leo contributes helpfully.</p><p>This gets him a gentle pat on the head from Camilla. Leo sets his hair straight as she keeps talking. “I don’t really know what made him change his mind and actually marry her,” Camilla says, with an air of peaceful contemplation. “I also don’t remember her very well. This was... what, ten years ago?” Now she actually does look at Leo, who nods fractionally. Camilla keeps on. “Something like that. She never lived with us, she kept her own apartment, but there was certainly a wedding, I remember that much. Father had me make a tiara for her for the occasion. Silver and sapphires.” Camilla taps a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “I think she had a daughter, but we didn’t get to see her much. Either Father or Arete didn’t want her mixing with us. And then she was gone, less than a year later.”</p><p>“—a <em>daughter</em>,” Leo says, sharp like an accusation. “Why don’t I remember that?”</p><p>Mother has been paying close and careful attention all this while, a look on her face somewhere between pain and fondness. “It may be that Arete was trying to protect her,” she murmurs now. “From whatever reason Garon married her.” </p><p>Xander shifts again, and Ryoma glances at him; it seems almost like Xander wants to say something, but then he subsides again with nothing said. Ryoma finds yet again the urge to spirit him away to a warm and quiet corner of the house. </p><p>“Power, more than likely,” Leo says. He’s all offhanded dismissiveness now, like this is hardly a mystery to him. “Why did Garon do anything? Jealousy and power-hunger. If Arete’s daughter was of your, ah— bloodline— perhaps there’s something Garon would have wanted there.” </p><p>“But not with Corrin?” Camilla tilts her head, making a show of her confusion. </p><p>Mother presses her mouth flat and shakes her head. “Corrin’s father is,” she says, and stops, and calculates. Ryoma can see her forming several different thoughts, ghosts on her lips, and stopping, before she finally settles at, “Different. While Corrin and – my niece – will share much, they will also be very different because of that. Garon may not have even realized they were of the same blood.”</p><p>"Different how?" Leo wants to know.</p><p>All Mother can do with that is shake her head. Ryoma knows thusly that they have reached the limit of what Mother can say. It seems Leo has intuited that as well, but it makes him look disgruntled and restless as he sits back, folds his arms and tucks his chin. "This is very inconvenient," he says.</p><p>The look Mother gives him then is an exasperatedly tolerant one, and Camilla laughs for it. Ryoma himself finds a smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. "How do you think she feels?" he translates easily, several steps beyond amused. "Geasa are convenient to no one. Ah— Mother. If you can't speak of any of that, can you perhaps shed any light on why there might have been something of Arete..."</p><p><em>In Garon</em> is how the sentence finishes, but Ryoma doesn't really want to finish it.</p><p>“I can barely begin to speculate,” Mother says, expression turned down. “It’s certainly nothing inside my own skillset – at least, not the way I know it. Still, sisters may have very different capabilities, may they not?” It’s Camilla who nods first to this, with a little smile that fades quickly given the topic at hand. Mother goes on. “Perhaps there was something Garon did... to her, but even with that, I could not yet guess what that might be.”</p><p>“Well, if he kept notes, we’ll find them,” Leo says grimly, and then adds, with a wince and a look at Ryoma, “Provided they haven’t been vaporized.” </p><p>Ryoma shares the unspoken sentiment there. It was helpful at the time, but had he the capacity to choose, he would certainly have picked something less ruinous. </p><p>“It would certainly help to read them, were they more than atoms.” Mother is all delicacy. </p><p>Camilla laughs, head thrown back, and Ryoma supposes he can see, for a moment or two, how she fascinates people, from the fall of her hair to the line of her throat; but Xander is beside him, a grounding more solid than anything else could possibly be. And thinking of Xander... Ryoma bends his head to look at Xander properly, remembering that he had meant to spirit Xander away somewhere private to simply rest and be unpressured. Yes, there’s something about the set of Xander’s shoulders, the tension around his eyes, which makes Ryoma think this is probably still the correct course of action. “I think this is the most help I can be for the moment,” he says, into the amused stillness. “I mean to show Xander the house, if what remains to speak of is largely magical?”</p><p>“Mm.” Mother nods, but the sidelong glance she gives Ryoma tells him clearly that he should be careful not to do anything stupid. As if Ryoma would, when Xander is still injured, but he supposes the moon is still waxing and she has fifteen years of playing the matriarch to impetuous wolves.</p><p>He just nods acquiescence in turn. “We shouldn’t be hard to find if you need us.” But please don’t need us, he thinks, and tries to convey it with the way he hops to his feet, sets a hand at Xander’s elbow in quiet offer of assistance.</p><p>Xander doesn’t require all that much leverage, it seems, though he lets Ryoma assist him anyway; and as Ryoma moves out of the room Xander stays close enough for their arms to brush.</p><p>Out into the halls Ryoma has to think briefly about <em>where</em> to go. His own room might be a poor choice if he’s being especially careful of wolfish instincts. The family room – the den – is cozy but prone to wolves and humans wandering through at all hours. Xander’s guest room holds the risk of Leo, and Ryoma doesn’t know him well enough to really guess what Leo’s opinions on appropriate sources of comfort might be. Possibly the attic. It doesn’t see very much traffic, and if he picks up some blankets and pillows, a corner behind the boxes may be made more comfortable.</p><p>Beside him Xander is patient, watching. Ryoma wishes a little that Xander would say something, anything to give him a clue if he’s working in even vaguely the right direction, but...</p><p>He remembers how he felt, years ago, when his father died. What Xander is ready for, then, and only that. Ryoma firms up that resolve. “I’d like to stop by my room to grab a few things,” he says, “but after that there’s a corner of the attic I think can be made very comfortable. If you would like to just... <em>be</em> for a while.”</p><p>There is some quiet consideration evident, and finally Xander dips his head in brief acknowledgment of the plan. There’s a weariness about him, but he presses on regardless.</p><p>Ryoma leads the way. He’s not as at peace with the silence as he wishes he was, to the extent that he keeps filling it with rambling of his own. Stories of the pack, of how this hallway had to be remodelled and the weeks-long, petty argument that was had over the type of wood for the panelling, of how the brushes mounted at some convenient corners have been through several prototyping phases and even now there’s room for improvement, of the secret stash of puppy pictures Ryoma has hidden away. They don’t get to be <em>babies</em> as wolves, not shifting at puberty as they do, but both Hinoka and Takumi have been through the same gangling stage of too much leg and not enough balance, and learning to listen to instinct just enough to make the form work.</p><p>He tries not to look back at Xander <em>too</em> often. Only often enough to make sure he’s not become too much a bore; but on the whole, Xander seems as though he’s just letting things wash over him. Ryoma thinks he catches a smile at the edges of his vision. </p><p>The stop at his room is brief – Ryoma snags pillows from his bed, quilts that were neatly folded over the rack at the wall, and ducks right back out again, pressing the pillows into Xander’s arms. Xander furrows his brow over this, but the soft weight can be easily cradled without injuring his hands any further, and on the whole Ryoma thinks it is not one of the stranger requests he has made over the term of their acquaintance. There is not much further deliberation on the topic, and Ryoma sets them on the path toward the attic instead.</p><p>He does wind up having to help Xander a little, getting up the steps more or less hands-free, but it’s within an acceptable range of difficulty. Without other preamble Ryoma beelines to the furthest corner and plonks everything down. “There,” he says. “Not many people come up here, so we— you should get some time to yourself. I can go, if you’d prefer?”</p><p>Xander doesn’t respond immediately, instead surveying the space. When he moves it’s to kneel carefully, to tug at the pillows to arrange them as well as he can with injured hands. Ryoma bends to try to help, and they manage a system whereby Xander points and Ryoma tucks pillows or quilt as indicated. Finally Xander sits down properly, leaning against the now cushioned wall, and he looks up at Ryoma, gently pats the space beside him.</p><p>Ah, to be welcomed. Ryoma starts to move into that space, and then hesitates again. “I can shift?” he offers. It had been desirable before; and he suspects his four-legged form, being fuzzier and not quite as sharp around the elbows, is probably a better bedmate. </p><p>Xander shakes his head, and gestures again. Ryoma’s heart squishes with overwhelming warmth, and he goes where he’s been indicated, sits beside Xander. Like this he can lean against the same wall, set his shoulder against Xander’s and draw blankets up over their legs. When Ryoma has settled Xander breathes a long sigh, and leans ever so slightly toward Ryoma. </p><p>“I don’t mind,” Ryoma says, in case the reticence is uncertainty, and is rewarded for it when Xander leans more, and more. Ryoma gets a ginger arm around his shoulders, one that grows to a firmer embrace as Xander’s slow process of relaxation emboldens Ryoma. </p><p>All’s quiet, and still, but for the sound of Xander’s breath and heartbeat. This is a better quiet than the one before, a restful one instead of a transitory one, and Ryoma finds it more comfortable, not least for Xander’s weight against him. He could stay here, he thinks, a very long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. lover tell me if you can</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: grief and otherwise heavy emotions pertaining to the death of a parent, even a terrible one</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma’s solicitousness could chafe, in another circumstance, but right now it only makes Xander feel seen, and perhaps even held, even when they aren’t strictly in contact. He follows Ryoma patiently around the house, letting the long stream of commentary and anecdotes wash over him easily — it makes this place feel that much more like <em>a</em> home, even if not perhaps his quite yet. </p><p>Every corner has life in it, every scratch and dent a story behind the packmate who made it. The house itself feels like a living thing, so unlike the emptier place Xander’s used to rattling around in. When he thinks about it he finds that he wonders — does he really have to go back? Can’t he just stay here, like this, in this place full of warm people and wolves, where he won’t have to think about his father, and all that could never really have been. Everything Xander had hoped...</p><p>He arranges pillows and blankets. Ryoma helps. With the warm weight against him, settled, Xander finds it easier not to think about all that, as if Ryoma is some charm against the whole thing. Perhaps he shouldn’t rely on that. Perhaps he should be able to cope with all this on his own. Perhaps...</p><p>Perhaps a lot of things. Xander sets it aside, and he rests. </p><p>He couldn’t hope to keep track of time. He’s sure he dozes off at some point, and he certainly doesn’t have any kind of clock, is relying only on Ryoma with him to give some clue as to the rhythms of the house. But Ryoma stays patiently with him for hours and hours, more or less quiet, only every so often asking if Xander needs anything, if he’s comfortable. The answers are the same for a while — no, he doesn’t need anything, yes, he’s comfortable — until the grumble of his stomach betrays him with hunger. Ryoma makes a wry face at him, and Xander grimaces downward as if he can will his body into submission. </p><p>“It’s gotten late, in any case,” Ryoma says. “The moon’s up. We can go down to the kitchen and there probably won’t be anyone.” </p><p>Camilla likes midnight snacks, Xander knows, and Leo sometimes just forgets to sleep; but they might not take those liberties in a stranger’s house. Xander lets himself be persuaded to be roused, and Ryoma takes them down to the kitchen and rustles up sandwiches. Xander can manage holding one if he’s very careful, gets it wedged into his grip in his better hand in such a way that at least he won’t drop it.</p><p>Surreality strikes again: here he is eating a ham and cheese sandwich in the company of his werewolf boyfriend, and in the bedroom is a magic sword waiting only for Xander’s hand. Xander almost laughs with it, and if it had gotten out he’s sure it would have been a laugh bordering on hysteria; but the recollection that his father is dead twice over hits him a moment after, and all Xander can do is stare at his half-eaten sandwich. </p><p>“Xander? Is everything all right?” </p><p>Ryoma’s voice rouses him, just enough for Xander to look up and across the table. Ryoma’s grey eyes are all worry, dark and somber, and Xander does hate to worry him, but his throat seizes up over the reassurance he wants to make. He thinks about another bite — his stomach turns — he sets the sandwich down instead and tries to smile. </p><p>The expression feels brittle even to him, and he can see his failure reflected in the way Ryoma makes a careful line of his mouth, reaches over the space between them and lays his hand lightly over Xander’s wrist. “It’s all right not to be,” Ryoma says, sounding very delicate about the whole thing. “If you don’t want any more, there are always hungry wolves later, and there’s the guest room or the attic...”</p><p>Xander thinks fleetingly, daringly, of asking for Ryoma’s room, of tugging Ryoma down into bed with him and damn the consequences, let it just be them and nothing that needs words— but it’s a stupid thought. He can’t do that to Ryoma, with the scent-bond in play, and at the very least he’s self-aware enough he’d just be using it <em>not</em> to feel things. Ryoma deserves better than that.</p><p>So Xander gets up, makes as if to pick the plate up— ah, no, his hands won’t take that. Mercifully Ryoma interprets the gesture, sweeps around the kitchen putting things away carefully and comes back to Xander all patient eyes and gentle, fleeting touches. Xander leans against his shoulder, and Ryoma curves his arms around him, all loose and fragile.</p><p>He isn’t going to break if someone’s too rough with him, Xander thinks, and wishes perhaps that Ryoma would stop being so gentle; but he can’t find the words to tell Ryoma this, either, and so for now he just closes his eyes and leans into the warmth.</p><p>He can’t bear the guest room that night, not with the chance of Leo. It isn’t that Xander thinks Leo would be prying or pressuring — not on purpose, anyway. But he does know that with Leo around, he’ll feel the need to try to be strong, to be the elder brother as he’s supposed to be. And right now Xander can barely fathom that. He’s aware of the irony, that he can’t seem to face that but nevertheless would swear he isn’t fragile. Perhaps he’s lying to himself.</p><p>After all, he’s been lying to himself for a long time.</p><p>He sleeps upstairs in the attic instead, though Ryoma insists on bringing up more blankets and pillows. He stays when Xander tugs at his sleeve, and like that it’s easier to sleep. </p><p>In the morning, Xander wakes to a wolf, and nearly manages to laugh when Ryoma licks his nose with a tongue like forceful velvet.</p><p>He’s not up for much that next day, either — the dressings on his hands are changed with Ryoma’s help, the wounds cleaned before they’re rebandaged. They feel better than Xander might have expected, but it’s as if all his energy is going there instead of into his ability to function as a normal human being. He still can’t seem to find his words; they’re lodged somewhere in his throat until... until what? </p><p>He has fortitude enough to spend time with his siblings at least, reassuring each of them in turn as well as he can. Elise is simultaneously the most worried and the cheeriest; she flits between solicitous clinging and wild bouncing, full of excitement about all the things she’s learned here already and all the animals she’s seen. Hinoka’s going to let her help at the wildlife rehabilitation centre, she says, infinitely happy about the whole thing. Xander manages a smile for this, a real one — Elise’s joy is infectious as ever. She hugs him no less than three times per conversation. </p><p>Leo spends a decent amount of time with Takumi and Mikoto, beginning to go through what they took from Father’s study. Xander, feeling the coward, steers clear of this proceeding, but he catches Leo over lunch, and Leo makes the time to give Xander a pensive look. “Are you sure you didn’t catch some errant curse?” Leo wonders aloud. </p><p>Xander thinks he would know if he’d been cursed. Or at least, he’d know if he’d been cursed by someone <em>else</em>. Probably. He attempts to communicate his great skepticism to Leo with raised brows.</p><p>“I might be capable of scrying,” Leo says with a stiff primness, “but I’m not a mind-reader. Xander...”</p><p>Xander listens. Leo doesn’t finish the thought, only heaves a great sigh and changes tacks. “I may wind up spending some time at the house to oversee the contractors,” he says. “Make sure there’s nothing magical we missed they might stumble on, that sort of thing. It’s either me or Camilla— we’ll probably trade off, honestly. Elise is staying here with you. The Morimotos have been kind, and I’m sure Hinoka will keep Elise safe, but we can’t rely only on their kindness forever.” </p><p>It’s only been a few days, Xander wants to say. Can they not be healing a little longer? </p><p>“The electrical work’s going to take at least another full week, anyway,” Leo concludes with another short sigh, and eyes Xander sidelong. “...it’s not your fault, all right? Just... don’t do anything stupid like blaming yourself.” </p><p>Xander isn’t— or at least, he doesn’t think he is. It’s just...</p><p>No. He never could have been what Father wanted, remember? </p><p>Camilla’s the hardest of his siblings to lay eyes on— Xander doesn’t see her at all until that evening, when she puts in an appearance at dinner and tugs him aside after the evening meal. “I’ll give him back in a little while,” she says past him to Ryoma, eyes dancing with an untold joke, and she puts her hand in Xander’s elbow and takes him off to the library. Xander finds he doesn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter; but he doesn’t necessarily care all that much, either. It’s Camilla, after all. Of all their siblings, she is the one it’s easiest to be slightly less around.</p><p>It doesn’t seem like she had the books in mind, just a quiet and relatively private space for the moment. In the shadow of a shelf Camilla holds him by the shoulders at arm’s length, looking him up and down very seriously before she finally leans in and folds her arms around his shoulders. “Dear, <em>dear</em> brother,” she murmurs in his ear. “It’s all right, you know? Leo will talk a big game about getting back to home quickly, but you should take your time.”</p><p>Xander slips his arms carefully around her waist in exchange, turns his face against her hair. It’s strange that she shouldn’t smell of the forge, of hot metal and oil, nor even the lavender perfume she likes to put on over top. Instead there’s something like the scent of the woods, not quite chill but certainly damp and growing. He wonders if she’s been outside. </p><p>She straightens up in the circle of his arms eventually, but doesn’t immediately pull away, instead pauses to put one hand to his ear. “There’s really no need for you to be wearing that here,” she says, and the golden earpiece comes away in her hand. “I’m sure it isn’t doing you any favors. All right, Xander? Just rest for a while. I’ll take care of Leo and Elise, and Ryoma can take care of you. He’s certainly more than eager to.”</p><p>There’s a wicked little smile on Camilla’s face as she finally does step away, gold wirework cupped loosely in her hand. “—oh, Corrin will be landing this weekend,” she adds, as if she’s just remembered. “I think it’s best if one of us meets her at the airport. One of the Morimotos will have to go too, of course, to guide us back in — Mikoto’s wards really are something, you know — and of course they’re all darling, but I think Ryoma has the most even temper of the set, don’t you? Well, saving his little sister, but Sakura can’t drive yet. So it would be tidy if you and Ryoma went to pick her up, but it’s not necessary if you’re not feeling up to it. You have a few days to decide how you feel.”</p><p>Xander’s smiling for her before he realizes it, small and wry but real. She has everything worked out, doesn’t she? And if he’s not much mistaken, she seems to generally be approving of their hosts. Especially Ryoma. </p><p>Camilla doesn’t give the earpiece back to him, but Xander finds he doesn’t really miss its absence like he could. When they go back down to dinner for several moments he’s painfully, deeply aware of the glow in him, but on seeing him Leo just shrugs and undoes his own, followed by Elise with a cheerful “Ooh, right!” There are some interested sniffs from those who are wolf in human shape, but largely the change goes... not unremarked. But accepted, taken and run with in the manner of a change in the weather. </p><p>This, too, is nice. </p><p>That night Ryoma drags an air mattress up to the attic for them, murmuring something about it making sense for the time being. Xander’s back appreciates this, as does his heart. </p><p>The remainder of the week sees him improving steadily. His hands go from painful to simply tender, usable as long as he doesn’t try to lift anything too heavy, and lightly bandaged still. It gets easier to smile, first at the antics of sibling-wolves chewing on each other in the front hall, then simply at the fact of Ryoma’s existence next to him. Camilla and Leo are trading off days overseeing the family house, so Xander sees Elise and the wolf siblings more often than he sees them, but when he does see them each makes a point of stopping to check in on him, to update him on the house progress and ask how he’s doing. </p><p>He still doesn’t manage to answer them in words, not quite, but smiles and hugs do well enough in the interim.</p><p>The worst part of it all is that Xander knows he’s worrying people, with his difficulty finding his way back to wherever he put his words, but he can’t seem to nail down where that is, or why he can’t seem to just <em>say</em> what he means. Things keep sticking, or seeming suddenly too hard to say where they had seemed easy a moment ago, and in all that Xander finds that at least half the time it’s more expedient not to even try.</p><p>Then, somewhere around Friday, he realizes he’s counted this issue worse than the fact that his father is dead and was never the person Xander thought he was, and that’s another sort of crisis all its own. At that point Xander hides even from Ryoma, at least for a little while, not sure how to describe what he feels if he can even get the words out, and certain he will collapse under the weight of another worried look. </p><p>Hiding doesn’t really help all that much either, though. Xander’s own thoughts are too loud. When he comes out of the soundproofed music room, there’s a broad, familiar wolf camped in the hallway, chin propped on his crossed paws. It does something in his chest, knowing that Ryoma’s been here and only— waiting. Patient, and willing to wait while Xander works through what he needs to.</p><p>He doesn’t feel like he’s worked through all the turmoil, but there’s at least a calm amid the waves. Xander sits down by Ryoma and leans into him, rests his face in the thick fur across Ryoma’s shoulders. Ryoma shifts only to lean against him, and there’s a wolfy sigh that moves his sides and Xander with them. Xander doesn’t think he’s reading too far into things to say it’s a content sound.</p><p>His throat aches, his eyes burn, and he doesn’t know why something as simple as <em>thank you</em> is so hard to say. He hopes Ryoma will understand it anyway; and if he doesn’t now, Xander will make sure to say it to him later, again and again. </p><p>Father is dead. The father of Xander’s childhood, the one he misses, may or may not ever have been real. It’s a stark truth staring him in the face, one that trying to turn away from only writes larger. But: </p><p>It is easier to look at when he is leaning on a patient wolf. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes, i did get into the Hadestown sauce for chapter titles again.</p><p>I'm about 90% sure it's Xander and Sakura's support conversations (A, maybe?) where he talks about having had a stutter as a child. I always appreciated the friendship struck up there, and also  the knowledge of Xander's youth.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. snowballing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Corrin’s flight is within twenty-four hours of landing, it becomes clear that Xander isn’t going to be the best candidate for picking her up. He looks better, and he <em>smells</em> better, and his hands don’t seem like they pain him so much as they did, but he still isn’t speaking. When the matter’s raised, Xander’s eyes crease with tension, and he holds himself stiffly, but it doesn’t take much talking for Camilla to convince him to stay home, citing how there’s no sense in worrying Corrin until they’ve gotten her settled in. Leo is at the König house again, since it’s his day for it between him and Camilla, and Elise opts with firm cheer that she wants to stay with Xander. At that Xander smiles, cementing the idea that this is the better allocation of people.</p><p>All this means that when Ryoma sets out for the airport, it’s Camilla in the front seat of his car. </p><p>In some ways she’s the most opaque of Xander’s siblings. Ryoma can recognize some of Takumi’s pride and prickliness in Leo, and he knows more or less how to approach that for best results; Elise is cheery and vibrant enough that she doesn’t need to really be approached <em>carefully</em>, except in how she is a young teenager — but that much is standard. Camilla, meanwhile, has a light and elegant demeanor, but Ryoma cannot shake the feeling that she is watching sharply, and appraising with deep thought for every moment she observes.</p><p>The silence presses on him.</p><p>“I don’t mind if you want to put on some music,” Ryoma offers. </p><p>“Hm?” Camilla looks over. “Oh, no, that’s fine, but I do appreciate the thought.”</p><p>The silence continues to press. Ryoma has some vague recollection that Elise might have said something about Camilla quizzing him on his intentions toward Xander. He debates whether or not he wants to broach the matter first and shortcut some anxious waiting, and Camilla seems perfectly content to leave him to that debate. The GPS gives directions in its stilted voice, and Ryoma follows them without really thinking. </p><p>Camilla doesn’t even critique his driving. It’s weird, after a lifetime of Hinoka.</p><p>Halfway to the airport, Ryoma starts to think she might not be planning to say anything at all; and then, as Ryoma takes an exit and merges onto the westbound highway, she finally breaks the quiet. “You’re in love with my brother already, aren’t you?” </p><p>Ryoma chokes on his breath, but manages to keep the car steady, and Camilla laughs gently. “Oh, I’m sorry; it just looked like you were expecting a slow death by protective sister, I couldn’t resist.”</p><p>Ah. <em>There’s</em> what Ryoma expects out of a front-seat passenger: a hard time, some ribbing, and warmth under it all. “Can you truly blame me?” Ryoma wants to know, tone slipping into self-deprecation.</p><p>“Well,” she says, and taps her cheek with one finger. “I suppose not. If you have an answer for the question, I’ll gladly take it; but I don’t really need one, at this point.”</p><p>And just like that Camilla’s off the beaten path for Ryoma’s expectations again, leaving him feeling vaguely unsteady. He holds his tongue until he’s sure of which exit the GPS wants him to take, and which lane is going to be involved, and only then bends his attention back to the matter at hand. “I’ll admit, I was expecting more than that,” he says. “The situation in which we’ve all found ourselves, these last few weeks, is... highly irregular.”</p><p>Camilla lifts her shoulders in an elegant shrug. When Ryoma chances a quick glance over at her, he finds her with her head turned toward the window and her gaze distant, the picture of a wistful princess. “I hope it hasn’t escaped you that our lives haven’t precisely been regular, either,” she says, without turning toward him.</p><p>She does have a point. Ryoma subsides, turning over the question she’d asked. It’s not as if it’s one he hasn’t asked himself; the question of <em>love</em> when it comes to Xander is something difficult to see entirely clearly. He smells like a home that could be, and in the deepest parts of his instincts Ryoma wants and wants and wants, sunlit naps and moonlit wanderings and his to hunt with to the end of their days— but ah, Ryoma is a man as well, and he and Xander have only known each other a few months. Not to mention that Xander is in the middle of a deep vulnerability, has had his entire worldview shaken and then shaken again. </p><p>The last thing Ryoma wants is to take advantage of that, no matter how pleasing it is for Xander to find the best comfort with his hands in Ryoma’s fur. </p><p>“Xander’s my brother,” Camilla says eventually, “but he’s also a man grown. I’ve known him to do some foolish things, now and again; but it’s rare enough to see him pursue his own happiness. And you, dear, I don’t think you could lie to save your life.”</p><p>Ryoma finds he’s stung by this, even though lying isn’t necessarily even a skill he prizes. “You <em>do</em>,” Camilla says, cutting him off when he makes to protest and laughing. “Oh, but you look so somber and guilty whenever you have to dance with the truth, it’s adorable. You’ll be just fine for Xander, regardless of whatever your mother is.” </p><p>“Mother means well,” Ryoma says, focusing on the part of that he actually does know how to respond to.</p><p>Camilla waves a hand at him, flickers at the corners of his vision. “She means her pack well, I’m sure,” she says. “We’ll see about my family. Never mind that, anyway. I don’t want to fight you here, Corrin will smell it on us.” </p><p>Ryoma searches foggy memories of the toddler-that-was. Yes, he thinks she never did like it when people argued around her, but it’s been years. Perhaps it’s just anecdotal. Perhaps he’s tricking himself into remembering it because he wants it so much. “...very well,” he says at length. </p><p>The approach to the airport grows more tangled, and so he grows quiet in the mess of squinting at signs and guessing which lanes and buildings they’re each pointing to. Between him and Camilla they get it sorted out with only a few wrong turns, and then they’re heading into the airport. Camilla checks what looks like an antique pocketwatch, makes a little moue at it, and slips it back into the pocket of her leather jacket. “We’re still early,” she says. “Her flight won’t land for another hour yet. Let’s go and get coffee, shall we?”</p><p>In public they’re restricted from most discussion of anything very magical — Ryoma suspects any neighboring busybodies will only assume they’re talking about Dungeons &amp; Dragons, or perhaps a video game, but he really doesn’t feel like taking the chances, and Camilla seems to feel the same way, judging by the light dialogue she starts up about fashion and the brands sold in airports. Ryoma doesn’t <em>entirely</em> follow it, not being versed in the finer points, but the economic sensibilities of shops in transit hubs he can follow along with. </p><p>Camilla has a sharp mind. She just seems to like to hide it, using interests that are apparently tailor-made to have her dismissed as just another pretty woman. But she dresses like a biker and wears jewelry of the fine and subdued quality that means it probably cost a small fortune, and for every minute Ryoma spends in her company he swears he finds a new and unexpected facet. He thinks he likes her, but on the whole Ryoma still has that feeling that she is watching and observing and assessing. </p><p>It’s fair of her, he supposes, it’s just not something he’s entirely used to.</p><p>The coffee runs out eventually, and they move to loitering around the arrivals area Corrin’s supposed to come through instead. It hits Ryoma then, as it hasn’t really before, that they’re expecting <em>Corrin</em> — the lost baby, the sister he had never been sure whether to hope for or mourn — and he winds up having to sit down hard in one of the few unoccupied chairs. Camilla leans against the arm and makes a mildly concerned face down at him. </p><p>Ryoma takes it kindly, but doesn’t know what to say to it. For a wild moment he imagines this is what Xander’s feeling, this startled closeness in his throat and chest, the sudden conviction that anything he could say will be wrong and inadequate. It passes quickly. Ryoma counts his breaths, walks through moon-phases in his mind’s eye until he can settle more easily. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he says to Camilla. </p><p>“Hm?” She tilts her head at him. There’s a very brief flash of pinkish scar tissue as her hair drapes the other way. </p><p>“The question you asked earlier,” Ryoma elaborates. He’s leaning into that now because it’s better than anxious anticipation of Corrin. “I’m not sure yet. I know myself well enough to say that I’ll love him sooner or later. It’s difficult to say for certain right now, all things considered. Only that I want to see if we can grow that far.”</p><p>She listens with a more visible intent as Ryoma’s topic becomes clear, all still and unmoving with the force of her focus for some moments. When she finally nods the fact of her movement is as shocking as anything else. “I believe I see,” she says. “I understand some sort of mystical bond exists between you, doesn’t it?” At Ryoma’s fractional incline of his head, Camilla smiles a little, and it’s a small expression compared to previous, but somehow the more real for it. “That’s a considered outlook, taking such things into account.”</p><p>It says nothing of whether or not she agrees; but all the same, Ryoma rather thinks it <em>feels</em> something akin to a blessing. Certainly he believes Camilla’s smile. </p><p>“Father was... very clear on how careful we should be with out-pack mates,” Ryoma says in a few moments, feeling around the edges of those memories for whether they’re nostalgically warm or cooly painful today. Mostly he finds a sort of wistfulness, somewhere between the two, and at least unlikely to make him tear up in public, which is the most he can hope for right now. “The scent-bond is my responsibility to deal with, and if Xander ever asks for it, I’m... willing to let it break.”</p><p>Camilla arches her eyebrow at him. She doesn’t sound so very surprised. “While it’s sweet, you don’t need to defend yourself to me any further, dear. What has Xander to say on the matter?”</p><p>“He hasn’t wanted to,” Ryoma says. “That is— he has offered for my sake, but that’s all.”</p><p>Camilla’s mouth quirks then. “I stand by my assessment,” she says, settling in amused. “Just be sure neither of you martyr yourselves unasked, hmm? That’s not very fun for anyone, least of all me.”</p><p>Ryoma startles into a quiet laugh. “I shall be sure to take your pains into account,” he says gravely, and she dimples at him for it. </p><p>Perhaps it isn’t much on the whole, but for the rest of the wait Ryoma breathes easier. </p><p>Eventually Camilla’s phone chimes. “Ah,” she says, peers at it, and brightens. “She says they’re getting off the plane— she’ll be here soon.”</p><p>And just like that there are knots in Ryoma’s belly again. Camilla looks him over and sighs gently. “Why don’t you let me do the talking?” she suggests. “We’ll have to work up to some concepts, anyway.” </p><p>“I never asked,” Ryoma says distantly. “Does she know— anything?”</p><p>“I certainly hope so, with the education she’s been getting,” Camilla says lightly; but even that little joke fails to settle Ryoma this time. Camilla taps her phone, thinking. “She knows Father’s dead, which is why she’s come home early. She knows there’s been a problem with our house. She does know some of her siblings glow sometimes, but it’s not really something... ah, how shall I put this. She’s not like Xander; she knows there’s <em>something</em> about us that’s different. But she tends to simply accept it at face value.”</p><p>Ryoma’s quiet at this, soaking it in, trying to imagine the teenager Corrin is, the young woman seen only in photographs as a moving, living thing. She’s still halfway an idea, right now. </p><p>Not for much longer, he supposes.</p><p>Time passes — he has no idea how much — and finally Camilla lifts her hand to wave. Ryoma’s breath sticks in his chest, and he looks the way she’s looking. </p><p>It’s not hard to pick Corrin out of the crowd of other travelers. She looks tired, worn with travel, and her silver-blonde cloud of hair has been pulled back to a braid with enough flyaways to halo her. There’s a backpack over her shoulder and a big suitcase trailing her on wheels, and she’s dressed about like Sakura would, if with slightly less pink.</p><p>She looks like Mother, in the point of her chin and the arch of her cheeks. </p><p>She drags her things toward them and comes to a halt right in front of Camilla, nearly overbalancing and pinwheeling her free arm to catch herself. When she’s steady she tilts her chin up and beams at Camilla, even though her eyes are still tired. “I missed you!” she says.</p><p>Ryoma takes several seconds to cope. </p><p>Camilla, politely, gives him the time for it by sweeping Corrin aggressively into her arms, stroking a fond hand down the trailing braid. “I missed you too, darling,” she says, sweetly matter-of-fact. “How was the flight?”</p><p>“Oh, long, but not bad— oh, I couldn’t <em>sleep</em>, though. I kept worrying.” Corrin is frowning faintly as she squirms out of Camilla’s arms. “How is everyone? They’re all back at— um— the place we’re staying?” </p><p>“Everyone’s fine,” Camilla says gently, and then pauses, head tilted. “Well, Father is still dead, and Xander is a little sick, but other than that, everyone is well.” </p><p>“Oh, okay.” Corrin appears to take this with remarkable equanimity. “Let’s go, then! Um, can you grab my suitcase?”</p><p>“Of course,” Camilla says. Her smile is indulgent. She pats Corrin on the head one more time – she’s short, she’s even shorter than Mother – and reaches to take over suitcase pulling duties. </p><p>It occurs to Ryoma that he is going to have to do things like introduce himself and drive, and honestly that’s about enough of being stunned. He shakes his head as he would shake his shoulders in his other form, and gets to his feet. “Ah— can I take anything for you?”</p><p>Corrin jumps, and stares at him like she hadn’t expected him to speak. It is not, Ryoma reflects distantly, an auspicious start. </p><p>Like a deer faced with the pack, Corrin glances from Ryoma to Camilla, and back again. “I’m fine, thanks?” she tries politely, and gives Camilla another very confused look.</p><p>Camilla laughs like bells. Ryoma really wishes she wouldn’t. “I’m sorry, darling, I should have introduced you,” she says then, and gestures between them with her free hand. “Corrin, this is Ryoma Morimoto. It’s his family we’re staying with.”</p><p>It’s the best start Ryoma can hope for. He isn’t sure he would have dropped <em>long-lost sister</em> on her in the middle of the airport after a trans-continental flight, either, but it stings a little nevertheless. He tries a smile, and inclines his head instead of reaching out, abruptly very conscious that he’s the strange man in this situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says. </p><p>“Oh,” Corrin says. “Um. You, too!” She tries to offer a hand, finds it’s trapped under her backpack strap, and fumbles between switching hands and giving up with a little half bow. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting…?”</p><p>Ryoma seems to be smiling, judging by the ache in his cheeks, but he hasn’t really had any conscious input on that decision. “It’s all right,” he says. “It was rather last-minute.”</p><p>Camilla chooses this opportunity to add her own input, an amused smile on her face and something of mischief in her visible eye. “Ryoma here <em>also</em> happens to be Xander’s boyfriend,” she says. “He drove here, since Xander’s out of it.”</p><p>Ryoma can’t even really be upset with Camilla, since it’s true, but the title makes his heart tug a sharp ninety degrees away from the feelings about Corrin, all warm and squishy; and then as Corrin goes wide-eyed at him and then abruptly much more cheerful, all the other emotions come back, and Ryoma is rendered speechless <em>again</em> in the resulting happy turmoil. The moon is waxing. Of course it’s waxing. But he can’t be a wolf <em>here</em>. </p><p>“Oh, I had no <em>idea</em>,” Corrin gushes as they start moving. Camilla points them in the direction of the parking lots, and Ryoma remembers vaguely that he’s supposed to be doing things like guiding them to the car, and driving them home. “Congratulations— oh, I’m so happy for him, how long have you been together, why didn’t he <em>tell</em> me?”</p><p>“Xander was keeping him secret for a while,” Camilla says. She sounds so very pleased with herself still. “I’m not sure precisely how long— oh, remind me of the official date, Ryoma?”</p><p>At least with a specific question Ryoma can <em>focus</em>. “We met in September,” he says, “but it hasn’t been... official, I suppose, until about a week ago.”</p><p>Camilla drops her voice to an undertone which nevertheless carries to Ryoma’s ears. “They’re really very sweet together,” she confides to Corrin, making a good effort at conspiratorial. </p><p>“I’m glad,” Corrin says, and, “What about you? <em>You’d</em> tell me if you were seeing anyone, right?”</p><p>“Oh, probably,” Camilla says lightly. Ryoma shifts his focus to navigating to the car, counting his breaths, and behind him the talk of sisters catching up washes over his head and across his ears. </p><p>The parking lot helps, with the cool crisp wind to rouse him briskly. Ryoma turns his face into the wind as Camilla and Corrin get things loaded into the car, thinking of everything that lies ahead. How are they going to <em>tell</em> her? How will she believe them? Does he start with werewolves or family? Either one will be difficult to hide, the wolves because most of the pack shifts as they like, and the family because Ryoma’s siblings are not typically what he would call <em>subtle</em>. He’s sure whoever sees Corrin first is going to burst into tears.</p><p>Perhaps he can get Camilla to explain. Ah, but that, too, seems unworthy, to push off something so important to their family on her.</p><p>“Ryoma?”</p><p>Ryoma draws himself out of his thoughts, takes another breath of the sharp late autumn air, and gets into the car. </p><p>In the front seat next to him, Camilla gives him a thoughtful look. “Here, or at the house?” she asks softly.</p><p>“The house,” he says. “Please.” With the moon steadily approaching full and all the emotions likely to be around, he doesn’t like the idea of having any of the approaching conversations in a moving car he’s driving. Wolves aren’t really good at driving cars, even when they have human-level intelligence piloting. </p><p>“What was that?” Corrin pipes up from the back seat. Corrin. <em>Corrin</em>.</p><p>“I’ll tell you when we get there,” Camilla says brightly, over her shoulder.</p><p>Ryoma cracks his window open, and takes them home.</p><p>The rest of the drive mercifully alternates easy small talk and silence. Ryoma’s almost surprised when he pulls up in front of the pack house — the drive is something of a blur, although he will swear he was nothing but a safe driver all the way along. He turns the car off and rests his forehead on the steering wheel for several moments, listening to Camilla and Corrin get out of the car and unpack.</p><p>Werewolves will be the easiest thing to say, Ryoma decides, and finally heaves himself into motion.</p><p>“There’s something I should warn you about beforehand,” Ryoma starts, before they can get very far up the path. Camilla keeps walking; Corrin turns a confused look toward Ryoma. “Ah, I’m sorry, that sounded ominous. It’s nothing bad. Just... my family is mostly werewolves, so you may meet some wolves inside. No one will hurt you, but try to treat them as people even in wolf shape.”</p><p>Corrin stares at him. She looks to Camilla as if to check on this — Camilla, at the door, pauses long enough to nod to her — Corrin looks back to Ryoma. “Werewolves are <em>real</em>?” she says, her voice tilting up into a squeak. “You’re serious?”</p><p>Appropriately serious, Ryoma nods. </p><p>“Oh,” Corrin says, and covers her mouth for a moment. “Oh, wow. Are you? Is it rude to ask?”</p><p>“I am,” Ryoma confirms, not quite suppressing a smile at her flustering. “I would show you, but it would be awkward in these clothes. Our mother isn’t, but all of my siblings are— most of the pack is.” </p><p>“Oh, <em>wow</em>,” Corrin says again. “I had no idea. I mean— I guess that’s the idea? It’s a secret. People would have heard by now if werewolves were public.” She nods to herself, apparently pleased with having put this logic together. “How many of you are there?”</p><p>“Across the world, there’s more than a few packs,” Ryoma explains. “Each group, as far as I know, is slightly different, but we all balance wolf and human. In this pack— my immediate, blood family is myself and three siblings, but our pack is also considered family, and that’s more like fifteen people.” He’s rounding only because he generally doesn’t bother to <em>count</em>. “Most of them live within an easy commute, some of those in the house as well.”</p><p>Corrin pauses to count on her fingers, gives him a quizzical look. “You didn’t mention your mother?”</p><p>“Mother’s adopted,” Ryoma says, and goes for the door rather in a hurry, unable to figure out what to do with the look on her face and progressively less capable of restraining himself.</p><p>The broad entryway is empty. He rather intentionally hadn’t told anyone specifically when they’d be there, and he thinks Leo may be out anyway. On the whole, it had seemed better not to overwhelm Corrin at first blush. Mother is somewhere upstairs waiting on word, he’s pretty sure, and the rest of his siblings variously arrayed, although Hinoka is probably going to be first out of the gate, so to speak. </p><p>Corrin makes appreciative, wondering noises as she wanders inside. “Where is everyone?”</p><p>“Around,” Ryoma says vaguely, thinks about it a bit more, and corrects. “We’re getting close to a full moon, so more of the pack will be wolf-shaped than usual, and that also means many of them will be out in the woods. Mother’s probably in her study, I’ll take you to— meet her in a bit. Once we’ve gotten you settled.”</p><p>“Leo’s at the house,” Camilla puts in, surveying the entry. “Xander... ah, Xander’s in the attic, isn’t he?” When Ryoma darts her a quick, startled-guilty look, Camilla dimples at him, bordering on affectionate. “I thought it was better to give you two some alone time.” </p><p>Though it’s some time after the fact now, Ryoma rather appreciates it. </p><p>“If I had to guess, Elise is out in the greenhouse if she managed to talk Sakura into it,” Camilla goes on, consideringly. “Sound about right?”</p><p>Ryoma nods. “That sounds about right.” They haven’t let any of their guests into the greenhouse alone, in part to pacify some of the warier packmates like Saizo. Wolf’s bane is something they keep for its use to them, but it’s a risk as well as a utility. “I couldn’t tell you where Hinoka or Takumi are right now, but—" A sound of claws scrabbling on stone as someone rounds a corner nearby informs Ryoma that probably, one of them is about to make an appearance. Probably Hinoka. “Ah.”</p><p>On cue, a wolf barrels out of the hallway and into the open space. Ryoma had guessed correctly; there’s Hinoka’s reddish fur and wiry frame. She skids to a halt barely a foot from them – Corrin startles back, wide-eyed, with a soft gasp. Hinoka shuffles her feet around and licks her nose, ears down a fraction, looking much more abashed than she usually would as she recovers her equilibrium. </p><p>Wolf form may have been the wisest choice for Hinoka, Ryoma considers. She can’t succumb to the urge to say anything yet. </p><p>“Oh,” Corrin says, just a moment later, and she puts off her backpack to sit down on the floor at wolf level. “Oh, <em>hi— </em>you’re really pretty. It’s nice to meet you?”</p><p>Hinoka sneezes, ducks her head and draws a paw over her head, scraping along her head and nose. She takes a few steps closer and then sits down, just out of arm’s reach. Corrin looks hesitantly back and up at Ryoma.</p><p>“She’s embarrassed,” Ryoma translates, and comes over, hunkering down beside them with his forearms on his knees. “This is my sister Hinoka. She’ll be easy to pick out in human form— she’s the short redhead.”</p><p>Hinoka points her nose at Ryoma and peels back her lips very delicately, reminding him that she has many and beautiful teeth. Corrin inhales sharply, but in the moment after she takes her cue from Ryoma, and Ryoma only cares about how impressive his sister’s fangs are when she’s actively biting him. Which she won’t right now, because instincts or no, she will want to be on her best behavior. Ryoma smiles at Hinoka, and in the moment after, Corrin laughs quietly. “You’re definitely siblings,” she says.</p><p>Reminded of Corrin’s presence, Hinoka puts her teeth away and her ears down again – not back, just angled away sheepishly. </p><p>Corrin offers her hand, palm-up. “Hi,” she says again. “I’m Corrin.”</p><p>Hinoka leans forward to sniff the offered hand, whiskers twitching delicately as she breathes the scent in. There will be all of the sense of Corrin, and the places she’s been and the things she’s touched, and Ryoma <em>suspects</em> under it all something that smells like Mother, but he won’t have the chance to test that until he shifts. </p><p>It takes Hinoka a little while – Ryoma thinks her legs might be shaking – but once she’s assessed, she scoots toward Corrin and lifts one paw to place it gravely in her hand. Corrin goes wide-eyed. “I didn’t know how <em>big</em> wolves are,” she says, earnestly impressed. </p><p>Mercifully, Camilla – who has had the opportunity to observe them all – does not chip in with how relatively small Hinoka is, and Ryoma doesn’t actually want to start a fight <em>right</em> now, so he holds his peace on that. “You’ll be staying in Hinoka’s room,” he says. “Hinoka’s taking over mine for the time being – I can sleep pretty much anywhere.” The extra step in shuffling had mostly been because Ryoma has a very nice bed, and Hinoka likes to usurp it both that and his shower whenever she gets the chance. Ryoma will sleep in the attic, wolf or human, or on the foot of Mother’s bed if Xander needs the extra privacy. </p><p>“That’s very kind of you,” Corrin tells Hinoka. She has a continual sort of earnestness to her – not quite naïveté, but a quality that makes her seem as if she really, deeply and sincerely means everything she says. “I’ll try not to make too much of a mess— I’m pretty tidy, I promise.”</p><p>Hinoka takes her paw back and huffs gently, wolf equivalent to a laugh. She gets up, stretches out carefully, and flips her tail a few times. </p><p>“I suspect Hinoka means to show us the correct way, but not contribute to carrying anything,” Ryoma says by way of translation. Hinoka turns on the spot, waving her tail at him in something that looks much more like dismissal than wagging, and prances off. </p><p>He can’t fault her mood. Corrin is here. </p><p>Corrin scrambles to her feet, not entirely gracefully. “Oh, it’s okay, I only have the two things anyway— Camilla, are you still okay with my suitcase?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m fine,” Camilla says, with some amusement. Corrin picks up her backpack again, and they’re off again.</p><p>Ryoma’s heart keeps jumping up to his throat. It’s getting inconvenient.</p><p>Hinoka had done some tidying and actually made the bed, Ryoma sees when they get to Hinoka’s room. Hinoka herself has her front paws up on the bed and is nosing at the pillows, as if last minute adjustments to the way the bed is made matter at this point. It does make Corrin stifle a giggle, which is something. “Thank you,” she says seriously.</p><p>At the sound of Corrin’s voice, Hinoka drops all four paws to the floor again, looks between Ryoma and Corrin, and finally squeezes out of her bedroom past Camilla’s legs, disappearing into the rest of the house. Probably, Ryoma thinks, to camp out in his bed instead, and he can’t fault her for that, either. </p><p>Corrin spends another few moments looking around, then turns back to Ryoma. “Um,” she says, chewing on her thumbnail. “Would it be okay if I took a nap before anything else? I don’t know if you were all planning dinner or something, and I’d like to meet everyone and see Xander and Elise and Leo, but it’s been a really long trip...”</p><p>It’s both a reprieve and a disappointment. Ryoma makes himself smile. “It’s fine,” he says. “The last thing we’d want is to push you too hard.” He swears he can feel Camilla eyeballing him. “I’ll let everyone know, and hope you’ll join us for dinner later this evening.”</p><p>Corrin smiles back at him, stops the nervous nibbling. “Thanks,” she says. “I really appreciate— everything.”</p><p>Ryoma just nods – he can’t think of what else to say, mind a terrible blank – and then steps away. He and Camilla skirt around each other in the doorway, and he vaguely hears Camilla saying something to Corrin as he goes. </p><p>He finds Hinoka in his room, curled up on his bed with her tail over her nose and blankets scraped into something resembling a nest. She slits her eyes open to watch him – Ryoma waves, shakes his head. “Don’t get up,” he says. “Corrin’s napping, but I think she’ll join us for dinner. I ... don’t know how to tell her, yet.”</p><p>Hinoka blinks slowly, and doesn’t bother to resume human form to talk to him. This, too, Ryoma will concede is fair. He steps into the bathroom only so he can strip out of his clothes and let his form lapse into wolf shape. Four legs come more naturally at this time of month and with this volume of emotions running high, and he’d rather not fight it at the moment.</p><p>On soft paws he pads out of the room and canvasses the house for Xander. It would be – unfair – to put his own emotional turmoil on Xander right now, which is another reason wolf form is a good choice. No words, only quiet leaning and the warmth of another person to be with. That’s enough.</p><p>Xander turns out to be in the library instead of the attic, though he looks rumpled in a way that suggests recent sleep, so Camilla may also have been right. He’s at the reading table with a book, glances up only when Ryoma is close enough that his paws can be heard on the carpet. As soon as he’s seen Ryoma, Xander smiles, and though it’s a tired expression it still touches his eyes. </p><p>Ryoma sits down next to him and rests his chin on Xander’s thigh. Understanding, or at least guessing well enough, Xander sets one hand gently on Ryoma’s head, strokes between his ears and down his nape. Already Ryoma feels warmer, more settled, and he heaves a content sigh.</p><p>For now, it’s enough.</p>
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<a name="section0044"><h2>44. an air of anticipation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xander can guess, when Ryoma comes to be near him and cast soulful wolfish eyes up at him, that it’s something to do with Corrin; but Ryoma doesn’t seem inclined to shift back to give an answer, and Xander’s not sure he could form the words anyway. So they exist quietly together. It might be because of external limitations, but all the same, Xander can’t be sorry they’re having the time like this. </p><p>Since Ryoma’s back, Corrin’s here, but if she hasn’t come to say hello then she’s either sleeping or quizzing one of his siblings for information. He wonders how she took the werewolves, if they’ve mentioned the relation yet. </p><p>Xander reads the same page over five times before acknowledging he’s not really intaking any information. He slides out of his chair to the floor, disturbing Ryoma, but as it’s in order to lean against Ryoma, somehow he doesn’t think he’s going to get too many arguments. </p><p>He does not. Tension he hadn’t known he was carrying bleeds out of him, and, he thinks, out of Ryoma as well, and in a few moments Ryoma turns his head to lick Xander’s cheek. It makes Xander laugh, and Ryoma’s ears prick with interest, and he does it again, and again—</p><p>“Wow, do you two need some privacy?” </p><p>—oops. </p><p>The voice belongs to Takumi, possibly the one of Ryoma’s siblings Xander has managed to spend the least time with and barely knows at all. He’s standing a few paces off, arms folded. Immediately Xander sobers, and— well, he can’t possibly pretend he wasn’t just enjoying himself, but he can put a grave face on things. Politely he shakes his head, and attempts to give Takumi a look of inquiry.</p><p>Takumi huffs, unfolding his arms and folding them the other way for some variety. His sleeves pull up just enough to show the coil of white-blue on one wrist. It hums faintly, Xander thinks, but only distantly, distantly. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Corrin’s here already, right?” </p><p>Xander can’t actually confirm that, but next to him Ryoma straightens up, then dips his head in a pointed and obvious nod. </p><p>“Great,” Takumi says. Xander can’t place why that sounds more like sarcasm than anything else. “Okay. Seen Mother?”</p><p>Ryoma looks at Xander, tilts his head to the side as if in confusion. Xander considers. He <em>thinks</em> Mikoto was in her study, but it isn’t as though he’s been very active around the house today. Hesitantly he points up, in that general direction; Ryoma nods agreement, points his nose the same way. </p><p>Takumi stifles a laugh. “Thanks. I’m going to assume that’s her study.” Something occurs to him then, and Xander will swear he looks mischievous. “What about Hinoka?”</p><p>Xander shrugs lightly. Ryoma scrapes at the floor as if trying to dig through it. </p><p>“Sakura?”</p><p>On that front Xander honestly isn’t sure. Ryoma seems to be — he huffs loudly, all wolfish irritation, and gets up to pace across the library to the long window opposite, which the greenhouse can be seen from. He presses his nose to the window — Xander suspects the smearing of dampness across it is wholly intentional — and then paces back to stare pointedly at Takumi.</p><p>Takumi appears to still think this is hilarious. “Oh, actually, what about Leo? I don’t know if he’s back yet, and there’s still a pile of magical crap to get through.”</p><p>Xander last saw Leo last night, and couldn’t say for sure. He is, however, beginning to suspect that Takumi is by this point just prodding at them, a suspicion which is reinforced by the way Ryoma makes absolutely no indication except to fold his lips back from his teeth. Takumi unfolds his arms and rolls his shoulders, and something about his eyes shifts, the shape of his face isn’t quite what it was—</p><p>Ryoma’s ears go back, implying that if he was not serious before he is now. Takumi sighs and takes a step back, and the change in him goes away. “Fine, fine, you’re no fun. I’ll be out with Sakura if you need me, if Corrin’s here I probably shouldn’t bother Mother.” </p><p>Personally, Xander rather thinks it’s the sort of situation for which a distraction might be nice, but he barely knows their mother, and Takumi’s already leaving anyway. Ryoma’s ears come back up, and he shakes himself, as if the whole array of prickling means he has to put his fur back in order. Xander regards him and finds an overwhelming warm fondness lurking in his chest, ready to ambush him into affectionate gestures at a second’s notice.</p><p>There really isn’t a reason to resist, not right now. Xander reaches for Ryoma and buries hands in his fur, and Ryoma leans into the petting with eyes half-closed. The injuries still pull a little, but they’re much better than they were, and certainly not bad enough to inhibit something like this. He thinks, vaguely, that they might be healing faster than most people expect — the directions he got on care definitely implied longer, at least — but it’s not really all that important. It’ll heal when it heals.</p><p>Eventually Xander drags his book down off the table to read leaning against Ryoma, and Ryoma heaves one of those great wolfily contented sighs just about in Xander’s ear, breath stirring his hair, and that’s all well enough.</p><p>Sakura stops by later in the evening, head poking just around the doorjamb. She waves when she sees them, slips only a few steps inside and visibly braces herself. “Orochi and Kagero are in the kitchen,” she says softly. “I think dinner in an hour? I don’t, um. I don’t know if Corrin’s going to be awake or not, Camilla said she wasn’t yet, but I thought it would probably be good to eat together anyway...”</p><p>She bites her lip and stops talking there. Xander smiles at her as warmly as he can, fumbles for words to reassure her that she’s not a bother, that it’s fine, but he opens his mouth and can’t make himself push his breath out in the appropriate shapes. Damn. </p><p>Sakura goes red around the edges. “It’s okay,” she says hastily. “You don’t have to force yourself, I just thought I should let you know.”</p><p>Xander sits up properly so he’s not on Ryoma, feels around on the table for his bookmark. While he’s taking care of marking his place, Ryoma gets up, ambles over to Sakura and pushes his side against her legs. Xander has to appreciate, again, just how <em>large</em> Ryoma is as a wolf — images of wolves never do them enough justice, but Ryoma comes up well past Sakura’s hips. He’s not quite big enough to pass for a small pony — but, Xander feels, it’s a near thing. </p><p>With the book settled, Xander moves toward the door, stopping far enough away that he won’t be looming over Sakura, and he looks down at Ryoma, then at her, and tilts his head. </p><p>Sakura’s brow furrows. “Um,” she says, twisting her fingers together. “Did you. Want to help? It’s okay if you don’t—"</p><p>Xander nods. Sakura brightens. “Okay!” she says. “The kitchen is down this way, we can help cut things or set the table if Orochi doesn’t think they need help.” So saying, she turns to lead them down, every so often checking back over her shoulder to make sure they’re following. Ryoma trails after her with his tail carried high, waving this way and that; he, too, curves around to see that Xander is still there, though Xander has to assume he can be heard and smelled. </p><p>He isn’t sure why, but it feels sweet.</p><p>In the kitchen is Orochi, accompanied by a dark-eyed woman who Xander vaguely recognizes, wielding knife over vegetables with a military precision. Orochi leans over the stove, only to straighten when she sees them and smile cheerfully. And then frown at Ryoma. “Wolves don’t get to help cook,” she says primly.</p><p>Ryoma sneezes, as if that’s his opinion, and then points his nose into the far corner. Xander, following the gesture, finds another wolf tucked into a tidy ball. Dark russet coat, one milky eye — if Xander remembers names correctly, this is Saizo. </p><p>“Saizo is not <em>helping</em>,” Orochi says loftily, waving a ladle. “Saizo is staying out of the way. Change shape and put some clothes on, or do as he does.” </p><p>Ryoma sits down on the spot, which is notably neither, and looks up at Xander. Following suit, Orochi looks at him as well. At a loss for what else to do, Xander offers his hands, as though to say he’s ready and willing to lend them.</p><p>Orochi purses her lips. “And how much can you do with those bandages, dear prince?” </p><p>Xander frowns, mouths ‘Prince?’</p><p>She waves the ladle for emphasis. “Your family name,” she says. “König. It means ‘king’, doesn’t it? Pretentious if you’re German, I suppose, but well enough here.”</p><p>He thinks he would still prefer not, and hopes the continued frown is enough indication of that. Orochi pouts at him. “Oh, fine,” she says. “Xander, I <em>guess</em>. The question stands.”</p><p>Carefully Xander flexes his hands, feeling the pull. There’s still an ache in them, dull and pulsing, but there’s no sharpness like he’s broken skin again, nothing that says it would <em>actually</em> be bad. He figures that as long as he’s careful, it should be fine? He offers Orochi a shrug, then a nod, hoping it will suffice well enough. </p><p>Orochi fixes him with a gimlet eye for a few moments longer, but finally nods. “Oh, all right, I could use the help. You’re to stop immediately if you hurt yourself, understand?”</p><p>Xander understands. Orochi considers the kitchen, then puts him to work on salad things. Xander suspects this is the easiest thing she could give him, and really doesn’t mind at all. Meanwhile Ryoma, who has established that he’s not being shooed out of the kitchen, pads over to Saizo, sniffing at him before flopping down next to him. There’s some wolfish interchange between them, which Xander catches only out of the corner of his eye, and seems to mostly result in a polite sharing of the same space, with Ryoma’s chin propped on Saizo’s haunches. It seems matter-of-fact, as if it’s only natural that they should cuddle up to each other.</p><p>Not for the first time Xander feels some vague envy for this place, this pack, where holding someone can be as easy as appearing inside their space and simply leaning.</p><p>Eventually, when there are no more tasks Xander can help with, Orochi hands him a basket of cutlery and shoos him out to the dining room. “Don’t bother separating it by place, just put it on the table,” she says with a laugh. Xander goes, and when he does Ryoma unfolds himself from the wolf corner and heads after him without pause or question.</p><p>The dining room is empty at the moment, just the long heavy table with its scars and history. A wolf pokes their nose in shortly after Ryoma and Xander take up occupancy — Xander can’t quite make out who it is, though the reddish coloring leads him to think Hinoka. They’re not small enough to be Sakura, but Xander doesn’t know if there are any other reddish wolves in the house. Xander waves; the wolf nods and disappears again.</p><p>Well. That was less than illuminating. Xander sets the basket of silverware in the middle of the table and looks down at Ryoma.</p><p>Ryoma waves his tail back and forth, jaws parted slightly. He seems happy enough, recovered more or less from earlier; but abruptly his ears point toward one of the open doorways, and he licks his nose, tail dropping. </p><p>“Oh, um, is this where I’m supposed to be?” </p><p>The light voice coming from that doorway is very familiar. Apparently Ryoma agrees, although his reaction is precisely the opposite of Xander’s; Xander turns to greet Corrin, and Ryoma wedges himself between chairs with his head under the table. It would be hiding, if not for his size, and the fact his entire back half is still hanging out, tail swishing back and forth in tiny, nervous flicks.</p><p>His lack of dignity would be amusing, but the situation rather means that all Xander can find is an aching sympathy for him. </p><p>Xander turns to greet Corrin. Her clothes are rumpled as if she’s slept in them, but she’s brushed her hair out into the fine silvery cloud that makes her so distinctive. Immediately when she sees Xander her face lights up, and she darts across the room to wrap her arms around his waist. “There you are!” she says, tilting her head back so she can rest her chin on his chest and beam up at him. “I didn’t see you earlier! Camilla said you were sick?”</p><p>Is that what she said? It’s close enough. Xander taps his neck as if to indicate a sore throat before he returns the embrace. </p><p>“Oh,” Corrin says comfortably, “You lost your voice. Are you going to get me sick too?”</p><p>Xander shakes his head. He feels a little, passingly guilty about the lie, such as it is, but it’s... better that way. He couldn’t bear Corrin looking at him like he’s traumatized, he thinks. And there are very soon going to be reasons to be worried about Corrin, instead. Better if she doesn’t have to fret about anyone else in turn, right now. </p><p>“Okay then.” Corrin burrows against his chest for several moments, breathing deeply, and finally steps back. Her eyes might be a little bright when she does, but she smiles as cheerfully as ever. “I’m glad to see you’re okay!” Only now does she look around the room again, noting the table, the dishes and silverware, the wolf under the table; and at the last she tries not to smile and completely fails. “Who’s under the table?”</p><p>Ryoma’s tail flips back and forth. </p><p>Xander gets his mouth around the shape of ‘Ryoma’ but doesn’t quite manage to voice it. Corrin looks at him blankly, then taps her palm to her forehead. “Oh, duh, you just told me you lost your voice. Well. <em>Told</em> me.” She hunkers down then, peering under the table after Ryoma. “Hi!”</p><p>There’s a loud thump from under the table. Xander can’t quite tell what — either Ryoma tried to straighten up too fast and hit his head on the underside of the table, or he got caught in the chairs and the impact resulted there — but shortly after, Ryoma yelps quietly, and starts slowly backing out, one paw at a time. That, too, is probably for the best. Xander sympathizes deeply with his desire to hide from this, but... putting it off won’t make it go away.</p><p>And perhaps, watching Ryoma come out of hiding, Xander can remember about that ability himself.</p><p>Corrin sits down a few paces away, watching the whole process. “You’re <em>very big</em>,” she says with wide-eyed solemnity. “Do you need any help?”</p><p>Xander wonders who she’s expecting to answer her. But Ryoma switches his tail side to side, something like a mirror of a headshake, and Corrin holds her peace and waits as Ryoma finally extricates himself. He looks to Xander first — Xander smiles for him, trying to look as supportive as possible when he’s not sure what expression that would be at all — Ryoma huffs a soft wolfish note of amusement and turns around toward Corrin.</p><p>Corrin takes one look at his face, pauses halfway through reaching out to him, and bursts into tears. </p><p>Ryoma puts his ears back in alarm and looks at Xander, probably for something like an explanation. Xander doesn’t have one. He kneels next to Corrin, sets a hand on her shoulder to ask, to offer comfort, to <em>something</em>. Corrin turns teary eyes on him — despite the tears, she looks as confused as Xander feels. “I— I don’t know what’s, what’s <em>wrong</em>,” she wails, and then flings herself at Ryoma, arms around his neck and face buried in his fur. Ryoma holds very, very still.</p><p>Xander needs someone who can <em>talk</em>. He sets a hand on Ryoma’s head for a moment, the other on Corrin’s — hesitates — no. He won’t be any help here. There’s no sense in hesitating. Willing Ryoma to understand that he’ll be back, he gets up and heads for the kitchen at a quick pace. It’s close, and it’s the last place he saw anyone.</p><p>And if he’s still running from it all, at least this is a constructive method of running. </p>
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<a name="section0045"><h2>45. games for children</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: grief, mood whiplash</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Logically Ryoma knows Xander has probably gone to get someone like Camilla or Mother, someone who can actually help with Corrin. Emotionally, he mostly feels panic, beating feather-fast in his chest. He doesn’t know why Corrin’s crying, doesn’t know how to help — awkwardly he cranes his neck to try to press his nose to her face, but she’s burrowed pretty determinedly into his fur. Her shoulders are still shaking with sobs, and she smells of salt and distress. </p><p>Ryoma whines very softly with her, at a complete loss for anything else to do. It feels right, emotions let out as sharp sounds from deep in his throat. </p><p>Unfortunately, Corrin’s tears seem to come with more force at the sound, which only makes Ryoma want to whine more, and he can’t entirely control it. He tucks his tail, pins his ears back, tries desperately to figure out what is making his sister cry.</p><p>Orochi shows up first, trailed by a wide-eyed Xander. Ryoma lifts his nose toward Orochi, hoping she has something, anything. Orochi knows many things, most of the time. She pauses in the door, takes in the scene, and comes to kneel beside them both. “Oh, there, there,” she says softly. “Saizo’s gone to get your lady mother, she’ll be here in a moment. It’s time everything came out, isn’t it?”</p><p>Corrin lifts her head just enough to eye Orochi. Ryoma can’t see her face from this angle, but he doubts it’s very happy. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” Corrin explains, and goes right back to it. </p><p>Ryoma gives Orochi the most pleading expression he can muster with a wolf face. Orochi sighs softly, and runs her hand very lightly down his back. Ryoma would prefer Xander, but touch is always settling. “You look very like your father, Ryoma,” Orochi says, quiet enough that Corrin probably can’t hear.</p><p>Oh.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. </p><p>Ryoma knows why Corrin is crying, and it starts him up whining again, low and unhappy, and pulls a fresh wave of sobs out of Corrin to match.</p><p>“Why could this not have happened during a waning moon?” Orochi wants to know. “Xander, come here, he’s cuddly and this is a terrible feedback loop. Shove your hand in front of his nose or something, your scent should do.”</p><p>Xander doesn’t make any verbal acknowledgment, but he’s there beside Ryoma and Corrin inside of a few moments, sits down next to Ryoma and puts an arm around him. Carefully he puts a hand where Ryoma can pick up his scent on the next sharp inhale. It helps, it really does. Sunlight and rich earth and cedar and <em>home </em>all hit Ryoma’s nose, and it’s easier to stop whining, with part of a home made manifest sitting next to him and holding him too. His ears come up, and he breathes easier. Still when his mind draws back to what Orochi said he wants to whine about it, but they’re softer sounds now, and he leans into Xander and trembles only faintly.</p><p>“Better,” Orochi says approvingly. </p><p>It’s not Mother who shows up next but Camilla, whose scent Ryoma still hasn’t worked out — it reminds him of something, only he can’t tell what, just that it’s warm and identifiable specifically as Camilla. She surveys the room quickly, and just as quickly settles herself gracefully next to Corrin, stroking her hair and murmuring quiet reassurances. Focused on Xander as he is, the precise words flow into and out of Ryoma’s ears without really leaving a mark, but he <em>can</em> tell they’re helping. Corrin manages to reduce sobbing to watery hiccups and sniffles. She doesn’t let go of Ryoma.</p><p>That’s fine. He’s happy to have her. It’s good to know she’s here and real and alive. That can be all Ryoma holds on to for the moment.</p><p>Then Mother shows up.</p><p>She’s pale and somber, and Ryoma thinks maybe she’s less put together than she ordinarily is— but that doesn’t matter so much, to a wolf. Wordless at first, she comes to kneel near them, and Camilla and Xander and Orochi all shift, each in their own way and giving a little or a lot of ground depending. Ryoma tries to look apologetic at her. This isn’t — quite — his fault, but it was definitely his face, and this is certainly not how they wished to tell Corrin about her family. </p><p>Mother just shakes her head, something like an indication not to worry about it.</p><p>Ryoma tries. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Corrin says, still sniffling. She lifts her face from Ryoma’s fur to look around at everyone nearby; she doesn’t hide again, but she also seems to have forgotten that she’s still holding Ryoma. “I really don’t know— I just—“</p><p>“You don’t have to apologize,” Mother says. There is naked longing on her face for several obvious moments before she closes her eyes and centers herself, breath careful and even. “We should explain a few things; but despite how I have thought about it, I still do not know precisely how to begin. It’s a difficult matter.”</p><p>Camilla gives Xander a pointed look. Xander’s expression creases, and he shrugs helplessly, mouth opening and shutting. Camilla does not seem precisely happy; but she puts a good face on, Ryoma sees, as she strokes Corrin’s hair back. “Darling,” she says. “Remember how you’re adopted?” </p><p>“I—yes—but—?” Corrin isn’t stupid; certainly, judging by the way her voice changes and her heart rate picks up, she’s put a few things together. “But I’m not a werewolf.”</p><p>“I married into the pack,” Mother says. “Sumeragi — who was father to Ryoma and his siblings — took my child as his own, though no blood was shared between them.” </p><p>Corrin goes quiet to think this over, then frowns. “But you’re so— so <em>close</em>. This is the same city. Father said he had looked for my parents...” She trails off, twists to look desperately at Camilla. </p><p>Camilla shakes her head. “Father lied,” she says. “He lied about a lot of things, if we’re honest, but especially about this one. I’ve seen your baby pictures with wolves, darling. This is true. She’s your mother.”</p><p>“We looked,” Mother says, her voice shaking, and she swallows hard and tries to compose herself. “I swear to you, we looked for you.”</p><p>Corrin’s lip trembles, and she bites it to contain herself. Ryoma sees Mother in the gesture, and leans to press his nose carefully to Corrin’s cheek. “<em>Cold</em>,” Corrin yelps, turning her head; and then she looks at Ryoma more closely, and her face almost crumples into tears again. “Why am I so <em>sad</em> when I see you?”</p><p>“Ryoma looks very much like his father,” Mother says softly. “Especially in wolf form. Sumeragi was perhaps broader, and darker, but— you were three when we last saw you.”</p><p>“Sumeragi,” Corrin repeats distantly, as if trying the sound of it. It rolls not <em>quite</em> gracefully off her tongue. She frowns at Ryoma; it seems like her gaze is somewhere very far away. “I... where is he?”</p><p>She sounds so lost. </p><p>“My husband was murdered fifteen years ago,” Mother says. Ryoma can hear the pain in her voice, too, years and years of the weight of grief all built up and threatening to be undammed by hope. “The same night you were taken from us. Hunters shot him down in wolf shape, on the full moon.”</p><p>“...Daddy,” Corrin says, voice thick and choked, and then she bursts into tears again, and buries her face in Ryoma’s ruff to contain them. He puts his ears back with the uncertainty and concern of it all, but otherwise stands strong, letting Corrin get through what she needs to. He might wish she wasn’t crying on him, but... well, he wishes a lot of things he won’t get.</p><p>Some wishes he may yet. Xander still has a warm touch on his back, something grounding and real and ungrieved. Ryoma can’t lean on them both at once, but Corrin will have to let go of him eventually, and then he will cozy up to Xander and bask in his warmth and forget, for a few minutes, about grief.</p><p>Mother reaches out as though to touch Corrin, and then she stops, and leaves that post to Camilla.</p><p>They wait Corrin out. There’s not much else that <em>can</em> be done, between Camilla’s soothing nonsense and gentle hands, and Xander’s solid presence, and Mother all fragile, hopeful yearning. Eventually Corrin lifts her head, sniffling and red-faced, and wipes her sleeve across her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says helplessly. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember— I can’t bring back anything concrete, just, it’s not <em>fair</em>. I’m sad and I can’t even remember why, just that I am.”</p><p>“You were three,” Mother says again, and she folds her hands tight in her lap. “I... have told myself for many years it would be enough just to know you’re alive.”</p><p>“Is it?” Camilla wants to know, sharp-eyed. She has herself not let go of Corrin, is still providing some soft tether with her touch. </p><p>Mother can’t find an answer for that, and so she stays silent. </p><p> It’s Corrin who shakes her head. She frees her other hand from Ryoma reluctantly, wipes her eyes and nose again and twists her fingers up together. “Of course I want to know you,” she says. “I mean, I guess it’s good we live in the same city, right? I just, I <em>have</em> siblings and they’re my family too and—"</p><p>Ryoma shoves his nose in her face again, which results in a delightfully predictable yelp about the cold once more. It’s definitely an improvement on her working herself up again. </p><p>Mother laughs a little. Just a little. “We are familiar with the ways of family that is not blood,” she says, and lifts a hand to delicately brush dampness off her cheek. “You may ask my other children for verification, if you must.”</p><p>Corrin thumps her own forehead with her palm. “I didn’t even think.”</p><p>“It’s a hard day,” Camilla murmurs. “Some thoughtlessness can be forgiven, darling.”</p><p>Mother nods an agreement. “Our home is yours,” she says. “I am given to understand that your house will not be formally habitable again for a week or two yet?”</p><p>“Possibly three.” Camilla flattens her hand in the air, tilts it to each side. “That will depend on the contractors. The ones Leo was able to find on short notice are not, shall we say, the speediest. But you know how it is; for quality and immediate availability, some things must be put up with.”</p><p>“I see,” Mother murmurs, and doesn’t quite sound like she does. Their building projects have mostly been pack-done, with a very few exceptions; despite Raijinto in his blood, Ryoma does not in fact have an electrician’s license.</p><p>Corrin’s eyes go abruptly wide. “Oh, no, <em>dinner—</em>!”</p><p>“It’s well enough,” Orochi says comfortably. She stretches and gets off the floor in one fluid motion. “I left Kagero to look after it, and she can handle taking a pot or two off the stove in time. Some little delay won’t hurt the food and it certainly won’t hurt us. Don’t worry about it, yes?”</p><p>“...Okay,” Corrin agrees, with just a little pause for internal deliberation. “If you’re sure.”</p><p>“Of course I am.” Orochi winks at her and sweeps out of the room. </p><p>Ryoma takes at least some cue from her, stands up and stretches himself out before shaking. Corrin turns her head to watch him, goes faintly red when he looks at her directly in turn. “Sorry,” Corrin says, “I’m still getting used to. Everything. Werewolves.” </p><p>He can’t quite tell her it’s all fine from here; but he dips his head in deliberate acknowledgment, and presses his nose to her cheek again before standing back. His tail swishes absently without much real input on his part. Xander strokes a firm line down his back again, and Ryoma curves around to nose at him instead, the pace of his tail immediately picking up.</p><p>Xander smiles a wry strained smile at him, tilts his head toward the dining table in mute inquiry. </p><p>Not too hard to ascertain the direction of that question. Ryoma licks his nose a few times. He doesn’t really want to be human right now; it seems like a lot of work for not very much reward. Sure, he’ll appreciate the subtle notes of the meal with utensils, and be able to carry on conversation with <em>all</em> the pack, and kissing Xander will properly become an option. Not that he can’t lick Xander as-is, but it’s much better with mouths that are both human shaped. But human also comes with the heavier tangle of emotions, the necessity of treading careful balances in conversation, splitting the difference between care and caution. </p><p>Ryoma whines hopefully. Do they have to? Xander’s brow furrows, and his lips move soundlessly. Ryoma can’t read what’s on them, and— ah, but Xander will want to see Corrin, won’t he? To avoid worrying her, if nothing else. </p><p>And Xander still hasn’t found his words.</p><p>With a deep huff of a sigh, Ryoma gets up and heads for the dining room closet. There are clothing stashes all over the house, just in case, though when there aren’t guests they don’t always mind themselves about modesty for the space of a hallway or two; this one doesn’t have anything large enough for Ryoma at the moment, he determines, after some careful rifling through of scents and pawing over robes. Anyway, he’d probably want something a little more substantial. </p><p>His room, then. They’re still bringing dinner things out, and Camilla and Corrin and Mother are talking all quiet-voiced. Ryoma might be able to help Mother like this — but he’ll be best help in human shape. He paces out of the dining room and heads for his room, lengthening his stride to minimize the amount of time spent in transit. Footsteps sound heavier behind him when he does, and a quick open-mouthed turn of his head brings him Xander’s scent again, all glorious sunlight to warm the soul and lift the heart. </p><p>Xander came with him. It’s sweet. It might be for simple lack of understanding, Ryoma reminds himself, but it’s still nice.</p><p>Hinoka’s scent in his room is recent, but she’s mercifully not there at the moment. Ryoma goes to rifle through clothes and locates what he wants, jeans among the items and not very much the worse for wear with some careful mouthing. Xander watches from the doorway, apparently faintly amused, as Ryoma drags clothing into the bathroom to change. </p><p>Reclaiming human shape takes longer than usual, despite Ryoma’s best intentions, like tearing through a heavy sheet stretched across a doorway. He doesn’t entirely <em>desire</em> it, it’s just that he finds it necessary at this point in time, and so putting off the wolf and the wild drags and aches and leaves Ryoma gasping, unsteady, for several long moments. But he has two legs again: he can put those into pants, and he can find a soft shirt and a loose sweater, and he can even remember to tie his hair back, though his shoulders ache as he does it. </p><p>Xander still waits for him at the doorway, and when he sees Ryoma again he makes half an invitation, opens one arm as though to give Ryoma the open space against his body. That’s all Ryoma really needs by way of inviting; he puts himself right in that empty space, lets his forehead drop to rest on Xander’s shoulder and just breathes him in for several long moments. </p><p>A warm hand slips under his hair to cup the back of his neck, stroke gently, and Ryoma sighs again, this time contentedly. “Thank you,” he says. “I know I am not the only one this is difficult for— are you well? Well enough?”</p><p>There isn’t a response immediately, but Ryoma feels Xander shift, and then one of his hands is taken in Xander’s. He doesn’t hold it traditionally, though, rather flattens Ryoma’s hand out and sets a fingertip against his palm— <em>oh</em>. Ryoma smiles against his shoulder and closes his eyes, the better to focus. “Go ahead,” he says, and presses back against Xander’s touch just enough to be felt.</p><p>There is a brief hesitation there, and then Xander writes, one firmly dragged letter at a time. <em>Fine</em>, he says like this, and Ryoma can almost hear Xander’s voice with it, asserting that he’s fine, and that Ryoma doesn’t need to worry.</p><p>“Please don’t feel you have to be,” Ryoma says, when he’s had a moment to compose his thoughts. “That is— of course I want you to be well, and it is good if you are, but don’t feel you need to force yourself.”</p><p>Xander taps a nonsense staccato rhythm against Ryoma’s hand, and then <em>Corrin</em>.</p><p>“She has several other siblings in this house and is aware you have been... under the weather.” Ryoma gives it the weight due the euphemism it is. Corrin is not privy to the details, and doesn’t need to be. Not for this.  </p><p>Another hesitation. Xander traces a spiralling circle, again and again, and finally starts into letters again. <em>Tired</em>, and a quick double tap, and <em>sad</em>, and once more <em>fine</em>. </p><p>It’s a good thing Ryoma’s already in his embrace, honestly, or Ryoma would be compelled to go and hold Xander, no matter where he was at the time. “It’s heavy, but you think you’ll be fine?” he asks, summarizing.</p><p>Instead of letters in his hand, he feels Xander nod, and then turn his head to press his face to Ryoma’s hair. Xander twines their fingers together then, effectively indicating an end to the conversation. Neither of them wants to move from the warmth and stability, it seems. Quite honestly Ryoma loses track of the time a little, lost in everything — Xander’s scent and the safety of his presence, the complicated net of emotions that catches their whole family in its snarls.</p><p>They are definitely going to be late for dinner at this rate. </p><p>When he can bear to pry himself away Ryoma squeezes Xander’s hand, lifts his head to slowly extricate himself from the hold. For some several moments they are close enough for kissing, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, not quite. This is a heavy solace, not a heated one. There will be time, Ryoma tells himself. Time enough. </p><p>Xander lifts their joined hands to his lips, kisses Ryoma’s knuckles softly. It’s enough. </p><p>Hands thus twined, they go back down to dinner.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. sunrise, sunset</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: the continuing emotional heaviness</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dinner has partially started without them, it turns out, but there are seats left open. Corrin is bracketed by Mikoto and Camilla, which seems wise to Xander – it gives her something familiar and something new, and buffers from the wilder among the wolves. Hinoka sits across the table, rumpled but human-shaped. She seems to be doing her best not to stare at Corrin; it’s just that her best still involves a great deal of staring, which means that as Xander watches, Orochi beside her delivers a gently affectionate elbow to the ribs.</p><p>Ryoma follows Xander’s gaze, and his face softens. “Hinoka took it hardest,” he says by way of explanation. “She and Corrin have only a year or two between them— it was nearly Hinoka that was with Father that night.”</p><p>Xander imagines how different a life with loud, prickly-kind Hinoka as his sister would have been; and then he imagines what Father would have done if he actually had a wolf child; and then he stops imagining and focuses on Ryoma’s hand in his instead. </p><p>Ryoma mirrors earlier’s gesture, kisses Xander’s hand softly, and then leads them to sit.</p><p>Dinner winds up, on the whole, an awkward affair. Corrin spends most of her time speaking with Mikoto in quiet tones, and Xander doesn’t really need to know what they’re saying to understand the pained mix of joy and grief that sits between them. Camilla has a protective air, more than she usually does. Perhaps she thinks they really will lose Corrin to the pack, that there might be no way to gracefully navigate two families. And it is not <em>their </em>fault their sister was a stolen one, after all. They love her just the same.</p><p>Whenever Xander grows too distant, though, too troubled by this to eat the food before him, Ryoma nudges him softly. That’s all — there are no further pressing queries about his wellness or lack thereof — but it’s enough to recall Xander to the present moment instead of the worries for the future, time and time again. </p><p>Any number of wolves show up late to dinner. Most of them show up human-shape. Takumi doesn’t, stepping gentle-pawed and bristle-furred around the corners of the room until he can press up near Hinoka. Ryoma murmurs something Xander doesn’t quite catch, but which has a resigned air to it. Xander half-turns, meaning to look confused at Ryoma until he repeats himself, and then there’s a flurry of motion out of the corner of his eye; Takumi bolts for the exit. </p><p>“My <em>bowl</em>,” Hinoka yells after him, and sure enough her bowl of stew is missing from her place. She hesitates on the spot, glances wildly between Corrin and the place where Takumi vanished—</p><p>Perhaps Takumi is a helpful excuse. Xander watches with some bemusement as Hinoka opts to lunge out of her seat and after Takumi, shifting as she goes, such that she walks out of her pants and a reddish wolf in a tank top leaves the dining room after Takumi in a hurry.</p><p>Ryoma puts his head down on the table, and for a moment Xander is worried. Then Ryoma’s shoulders shake, and Xander discovers that the peculiar sputtering noise from him is barely restrained laughter. He has to agree. </p><p>“Um,” Corrin says uncertainly, staring after them. “...isn’t there more stew?” </p><p>“There certainly is,” Orochi confirms, and helps herself to Hinoka’s abandoned salad now that it’s effectively up for grabs. Mikoto looks like she might be praying for strength.</p><p>Corrin checks around the table. Almost no one else is visibly disturbed by this; it is simply accepted as the way of the table. Elise is deep in a fit of giggles. Xander, privy to the stories Ryoma has shared with him – not least among them the incident of the arrow scar – suspects this entire drama may be getting off lightly, and also has to admire Takumi’s skill in making off with the bowl without flinging its contents everywhere.</p><p>Comparatively, the rest of the meal is quiet, and while some of the awkwardness remains, there seems to Xander to be a certain pressing tension that has eased. </p><p>When dinner is more or less over, dishes beginning to be stacked together for kitchen transport, Corrin makes her polite excuses first among them all, and Camilla goes with her, citing the need to braid her hair again. Xander considers where he will be this evening, and himself rises, meaning to go and be with Corrin for a little while. Just a little – he has no desire to abandon his attic retreat yet – but this day’s revelations mark the first he has seen of her in months, and he would rather like to see her with some lower pressure. If that’s even possible in the current situation.</p><p>Ryoma rises with him, standing to his side with an inquiringly tilted head. Xander shakes his head, holds up one finger. He needs a moment. </p><p>Gently Ryoma’s mouth quirks; and then he leans forward and kisses the offending finger gravely before sitting back down. Xander can’t help the smile that overtakes his face, nor the faint rise of heat in his cheeks. He points up, to indicate the attic.</p><p>“Later, then?” Ryoma asks.</p><p>Xander appreciates the clarity. He nods and slips away.</p><p>He had almost forgotten he doesn’t know the house so very well without Ryoma yet. Xander wanders longer than he might if he had the grasp of the layout, listening for the voices of his sisters and hoping they’re speaking so he can hear them. On the second floor he catches Camilla’s laugh, and heads that way, finds a door that’s only just cracked open. Here Xander taps at the doorjamb.</p><p>There’s a muffled rustle, a quiet yelp. Then: “Who is it?”</p><p>He has no way to answer that question. Sighing softly, Xander nudges the door just enough to get a hand through, trusting to the light bandaging to positively identify him.</p><p>A pause. “Ah,” Camilla says. “Yes, all right, Xander, we’re decent.”</p><p>He cracks the door open and slips inside, leaning against the wall beside the door instead of coming fully into the room. Corrin and Camilla are arrayed on what must be Hinoka’s bed, all crimson sheets, mismatched quilts, and pale, knotted wood for the head and foot. Corrin has a long flannel nightdress on, and Camilla has a section of Corrin’s hair in one hand, and a wide-toothed comb in the other. Belatedly, Xander waves his fingers in greeting, and settles leaning. </p><p>“Hm,” Camilla says thoughtfully. “Did you want something specific?” </p><p>Not specific, not really. Just their presence. Xander shakes his head. They can safely ignore him. </p><p>Corrin looks at his hands, brow knit in worry. “What happened to your hands? I didn’t see earlier— are you okay? Can you write, maybe?”</p><p>Xander flexes them thoughtfully, listening to the pull and ache and himself wondering. He’s not quite sure about that level of fine motor control. Spoons are one thing; legible writing is another entirely.</p><p>Camilla pats the top of her head and goes back to combing. “It was just an accident with the house,” she says, correctly intuiting that Xander doesn’t want or know how to explain Siegfried and those last terrible moments in their father’s presence. “He’s healing very well, I’ve seen, but he’s not pushing his luck for once, which is the right decision. Xander, why don’t you come and sit with us? There’s enough room.”</p><p>He hesitates anyway. Corrin pats the bed and looks extra pleading; Xander can only take so much of that before he caves. Camilla scoots to the side, as does Corrin, and gingerly Xander settles his hip in the empty space.</p><p>“You can do better than that,” Camilla says, mock-scolding. Xander makes more of an effort, tucks one leg carefully up beneath him and properly sits. She seems to judge that well enough, and nods approvingly before going back to Corrin’s hair. “All right, darling, what were you saying?”</p><p>Corrin sneaks a guilty look at Xander. “Just— oh, you know.”</p><p>Xander looks at Camilla with eyebrows raised for clarification, but Camilla shakes her head. “Well, if it falls under the sacred covenant of girl talk, that’s that, I suppose. We’ll have our secrets. Is there anything you <em>do</em> want to tell Xander?”</p><p>Softly Corrin hums, an uncertain note up and down as she ponders. “Your boyfriend’s nice?” she tries.</p><p>Ah. There’s a dull heat in his cheeks again. It’s ridiculous, frankly. He and Ryoma are both grown men who are absolutely free to desire each other, but apply one specific word and Xander’s reduced to a blushing teenager. But he nods, because it’s true, and he’s glad at least they’ve gotten off on a relatively good foot to start. Even if Ryoma is <em>Xander’s boyfriend</em> rather than <em>Corrin’s brother</em>. </p><p>Xander himself is conflicted about that, he finds, and while he can’t find the words that are right to say so, they seem to be written on his face. Corrin goes red in turn. “It’s still weird,” she defends herself. “It’s not <em>bad</em>, it’s just weird and it’s a lot, all right?”</p><p>She really doesn’t have to defend herself to him; his internal conflict is his own issue, and not something Corrin should have to worry about. Xander nods, trying to convey that he understands. Anything like this would be a lot. He still hasn’t handled the issue of his own father emotionally, and Corrin is bearing easily twice that now. </p><p>“I do feel bad about crying all over him,” Corrin confesses, twisting her fingers together. “He’s been really nice ever since we met, even when it must have been really awkward for him. And he’s a very patient wolf.”</p><p>Yes. This has been Xander’s experience too. He smiles gently, encouraging as much as he is thinking of nights curled against a broad stretch of warm wolf. </p><p>“If he wasn’t nice, I should have to have words with him,” Camilla says, affectionately severe, and taps Corrin on the crown of her head with the comb. “Straighten up, please, darling, your hair is still <em>very</em> long.”</p><p>Corrin rolls her shoulders and straightens up accordingly. Xander watches Camilla work deftly, easy and practiced with how she handles Corrin’s hair. It’s fine and silvery, and puffs into gentle waves rather than going wild with volume. “I think I need a trim,” Corrin says ruefully. </p><p>“I wasn’t going to mention the split ends.” Camilla’s voice remains all affection. “We can handle it later. For now, let’s just get it out of your way, all right?”</p><p>“Mmhm.” Corrin doesn’t quite have still patience mastered, and she shifts almost constantly, fidgeting and rearranging her legs as Camilla slowly puts a braid into place, starting from the top of her head and growing progressively swifter as she works further down. “Can you do it again tomorrow?” </p><p>“Of course,” Camilla says. “Anything for you, darling.”</p><p>Corrin goes quiet for some moments again, but it’s not a comfortable quiet, not really. It’s Corrin trying to edge up to something she’s unhappy or uncomfortable with. Despite the time spent apart, Xander still knows these silences well, and the distinctions between them remain just as clear.</p><p>Sure enough, as Camilla keeps working down her hair, Corrin fidgets and fidgets until restless uncertainty finally comes out as, “I feel so bad that I don’t remember anything at all. Barely the impressions.”</p><p>“That’s hardly your fault,” Camilla points out in turn, halfway down the braid by now. “Nor should anyone here hold you responsible.” A pause. Xander can’t see Camilla’s face quite, but he can certainly hear the thin and promising smile in her voice. “If they know what’s good for them.”</p><p>“Camilla!” Corrin almost shakes her head, has to be stopped by Camilla’s hand. She settles for wriggling impatiently on the spot. “I’m sure the whole – um, pack – is trying their best. I know I don’t really know what to do with a long-lost sister either.”</p><p>“Hold still,” Camilla says implacably, when the wriggling does not immediately cease. “Then why do you feel bad, if it’s natural and understandable that the relationships won’t immediately be easy?”</p><p>“Well—!” Corrin starts, and stops again only for several deep breaths. “...that is. I mean. Everyone’s so nice to me so far, and I don’t remember being their sister at all. Even Ryoma I don’t <em>really</em> remember, I just get so sad when I look at his wolf face. That doesn’t really count, it’s not— it’s not like growing up with someone.” </p><p>“If they’re all being nice to you, I hardly think they’re going to hold you responsible for not remembering things from when you were three.” Camilla sounds eminently pragmatic. She ties Corrin’s braid off, keeps talking as she does that final bit of work. “There. There’s no sense feeling guilty about things you haven’t done.”</p><p>“Or haven’t <em>not</em> done,” Corrin contributes, and then she sighs heavily, slumping in the face of Camilla’s iron practicality. “I know it’s not my <em>fault</em>, I just feel bad for them. I’m... not really the same person that they lost, you know? And it’s not like it isn’t nice to have more family, and I <em>want</em> to know my mother, I always wanted to, but I don’t really know how to be who they’re looking for right now. Yet. If ever. ... I don’t know. It’s just awkward.”</p><p>Camilla tugs on the end of the braid, then tosses the tail over Corrin’s shoulder. Corrin draws it forward the rest of the way to where she can see it, makes a pleased sound as she runs her fingers along it. “You do the <em>best</em> braids.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Camilla says, with no little amusement. “For the rest, just be Corrin. It’s up to the pack to decide, each for themselves, if this Corrin is also their Corrin; but you don’t need to change for them. And their part you can’t do anything about, so relax.”</p><p>Corrin whines wordlessly at this merciless assessment.</p><p>“You’ll fit right in,” Camilla adds dryly. She kneels up and bends over to kiss the top of Corrin’s head.</p><p>“You’re making it very hard to be upset,” Corrin tells her, with a bare edge of petulance.</p><p>“I know.” Camilla’s voice is all cotton-candy sweetness. By way of response to this Corrin sticks her tongue out and sprawls to the side and back, just missing Camilla as she stretches out across the bed. One hand brushes Xander’s knee.</p><p>Xander begins to feel as if he is getting in the way of their girl talk. Well, he has seen Corrin, after all, and he’s reassured that she’s handling all the upheaval as well as she may be. She’s resilient. Would that such a quality never be tested to destruction.</p><p>He gets up carefully, quietly, but Corrin’s head lifts instantly as she feels him shift. “Hey,” she says indignantly. “You can’t go, you haven’t hugged me yet.”</p><p>Truly he has been remiss. Xander offers her an apologetic smile, steadies his stance and opens his arms.</p><p>Corrin squeaks with delight and scrambles up to fling herself at him, never touching the ground. Xander catches her and has to spin to bleed off the momentum, and even so the breath goes out of him with the sheer force of her enthusiasm. She kicks her feet up gleefully before finally putting them down.</p><p> “I missed you,” Corrin says into his chest. “It’s not the same, just emailing. I want to go to school here so I can see everyone again.”</p><p>It’s a fixable problem, even if perhaps she means it as only a complaint at the moment. Automatically Xander starts calculating what would need to be done to transfer her to Elise’s school. Transcript requests, speaking with the principle and admissions officer if there is one, extra fees almost certainly. Presuming Father’s accounts are in order and healthy, the last won’t be difficult, but there’s always the risk Father had been doing something foolish or under the table. He had not been the same, in his most recent days.</p><p>“We’ll look at the details later,” Camilla says, jarring Xander mercifully from the complications. “Give it a few weeks, all right?”</p><p>Xander owes her many, many favors and thanks both. She meets his eyes over Corrin’s head and just smiles softly, tilting her head to the side with a lopsided affection plain on her face.</p><p>“Sorry,” Corrin says automatically. She unwinds herself only reluctantly, head tilted back so she can look up at him squarely. “You’re still sick. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it right now, all right?”</p><p>It’s a little too late for that now, Xander thinks, but he gives Corrin another smile in the hopes that she won’t worry very much, if at all.</p><p>She takes the expression at face value, takes one step and flops contentedly back into bed. “Tell Ryoma I’m sorry for crying all over him,” she says, and then sits bolt upright. “Oh—! Right. I can write you a note?”</p><p>Xander shakes his head, smile sticking around as something wry. She’s trying so very hard. He’ll manage without; if mime doesn’t suffice, he can write the gist of it into Ryoma’s hand.</p><p>Maybe he’ll do that anyway, for the sunrise of warmth it sparks in him.</p><p>“If you’re sure,” Corrin says dubiously.</p><p>“Xander’s been managing,” Camilla tells her reassuringly. “Don’t worry, darling. He’s being taken care of.”</p><p>As Corrin brightens and rolls over to prop her chin in her hands, presumably for the resuming of girl talk, Xander leaves them to it.</p><p>Ryoma’s in the attic where Xander pretty much expects; and, also like Xander had been expecting, he’s wolf-shaped. He recognizes his own certainty consciously as Ryoma picks his head up, ears pricked toward Xander. It’s nice, to have the unquestioning assumption simply met, so easily. Xander’s chest feels tight and warm with it. Is this trust, or delight for knowing Ryoma this well already, or something else again?</p><p>For the moment, Xander elects not to worry about it in favor of settling down next to Ryoma and offering his hand. Ryoma sniffs delicately, then rests his chin gently in Xander’s hand and regards him with patient wolf-amber eyes. </p><p>He’s handsome no matter which form he’s in.</p><p>Xander will pass on word from Corrin later. For now there is Ryoma and the warmth of closeness, fast becoming a reliable fixture.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. the winter rains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time happens, as it has a way of doing. In the morning there is Ryoma, and long stretches of laziness curled against each other. Xander wakes before him, but spends a long time appreciating the wolf beside him, and when he reaches to stroke Ryoma’s fur, he gets only fractional reactions, earflickers and an eye slitted open just enough to see him before closing again. This, too, tells Xander of trust. Perhaps, he remembers belatedly, the scent-bond would tell Ryoma’s nose that Xander is a source of safety no matter what, but... then again, Ryoma did say the strength of it becomes less overwhelming with time.</p><p>Xander would prefer to think it is a function of their friendship and the closeness that they are growing, leaning on each other as they are.</p><p>Only so much time at once can be spent in contemplation of the shape of a wolf. Eventually Xander grows hungry and has to go downstairs in search of a solution. As he goes, leaving an empty space in the nest of blankets, Ryoma stretches and rolls over into the warmth left behind, and Xander resolves to bring him something up — he shouldn’t have any trouble carrying it now.</p><p>Breakfast is a subdued, informal affair, and two of the people who sit to eat at the table have not bothered to take human shape first. These two favor the meats over the vegetables, perhaps predictably. Xander can’t identify them immediately — he thinks the pale one that looks like he doesn’t have his full coat yet might be Takumi, but he can’t even begin to guess at the larger brown one. </p><p>The brown one is... the brown one is wearing spectacles, shaped to perch on a wolf nose. Xander stares at this for longer than is perhaps polite.</p><p>Other people come and go, snatching breakfast off the table with heavy jaws or sitting down to eat with hands and utensils, and to make quiet conversation where appropriate. Mikoto comes down for breakfast when Xander is almost done; she looks as though she hasn’t slept much, although when she sees Xander she does make an effort at a polite smile. “Good morning,” she says, pausing by where he is. “I take it Ryoma’s still sleeping?”</p><p>Xander nods, though he’s less convinced of sleeping than he is of simple delight in relaxation. It’s more or less the same function.</p><p>Mikoto looks rather obviously fond. “Some wolves do like to rise with the sun,” she says. “Not Ryoma, as you may have noted.” </p><p>He has indeed noticed that. Perhaps it will work out. Xander only glows at night, after all; and he’s observed that Ryoma sometimes shoves his head under a blanket when it is particularly bright. Xander offers her a quick wave of his fingers and a little smile by way of answer. </p><p>“I hope your hands are healing well, still,” she says, and once he’s nodded she smiles the gentle reserved smile of a host instead of that of a mother, and steps away to eat in relative solitude, just a little ways apart from everyone else still at the table. </p><p>The rest goes uneventful. He takes bacon and eggs up to Ryoma, who’s infinitely gentle about the way he tugs them out of Xander’s hands and makes them vanish into his mouth. Some soft cuddling resumes; Ryoma puts his nose in the crook of Xander’s shoulder and inhales deeply before exhaling a great contented sound like the creak of a huge and ancient door. </p><p>They’re only interrupted an hour or two later, by Camilla, tapping at the door. She’s dressed to the leather-and-denim side rather than the fancier things she sometimes favors, and most of her hair is clipped back for practicality’s sake. “Did either of you see Leo yesterday?” she asks, without other preamble to conversation.</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head, slow in the deliberate way he has of trying to make sure he is understood to a human. Xander has to think about it a bit longer, but eventually he decides that no, he hasn’t seen Leo since the day before yesterday. He mirrors Ryoma, shakes his head. </p><p>Camilla does not like this answer at all. “We’ve been trading off days at the house,” she says. “So far, we’ve been meeting in the mornings to discuss anything that might have come up, but I can’t find him anywhere now, and I’m starting to think he didn’t come back here last night.”</p><p>Something about that alarms Xander, in ways he can’t quite name; more than just that of the brother who cannot immediately speak as to his sibling’s whereabouts. He fumbles for his phone and can’t find it in any of his pockets — he’s rather taken to losing track of it, while they’re at the Morimoto house. It simply hasn’t been necessary. </p><p>“I tried that,” Camilla says, intuiting correctly. “He’s not answering texts or phone calls, and I’m sure he wouldn’t be giving me the silent treatment. I had wondered, Ryoma, if perhaps your mother might be able to help locate him. Just for peace of mind. He probably has a good reason...” </p><p>Even to Xander, it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself of that. He doesn’t believe it, either. </p><p>Ryoma gets up, stretches out front and back, and picks up an earlier discarded robe in his teeth. Thus armed, he disappears into a corner behind some boxes, and some few moments later, he reappears human-shaped, paler than usual and hair a lightning bolt’s worth of untidy. He sits next to Xander, cross-legged, close enough that their knees touch, and picks up the conversation as if he was never not a part of it. </p><p>“She might be able to,” Ryoma says, but the hesitation in his words is clear, and his voice is not entirely steady. “Things like Brynhildr, however... Mother has previously been unable to see some things where Raijinto is, as if the energy is at odds with her own magic. Leo is not commonly without Brynhildr, correct? So it may be difficult for her to see anything.” </p><p>Camilla nods, taking this in. “It’s still worth trying, I think,” she says. “If it won’t be— damaging?”</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head. “Scrying, seeing clearly, these are things that are natural to Mother. She’ll tell you if she can’t handle it.”</p><p>“Hm,” Camilla says, and eyes him thoughtfully without saying anything more.</p><p>Whatever she’s thinking, Xander suspects he might agree; Ryoma doesn’t look completely well in himself. He reaches out and sets a hand on Ryoma’s knee, tilting his head in question when Ryoma looks at him. Ryoma tries a smile. Xander isn’t sure he believes it entirely.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re all right, Ryoma?” Camilla asks, translating for Xander very neatly. Once again, he is infinitely thankful for his sister, and how well and long they’ve known each other. “You look a little sick. Do werewolves get sick?”</p><p>Ryoma clears his throat. “It’s more difficult for us to catch cold, but that means when we’re sick, it’s usually something that hits pretty hard,” he says. “I’m not sick, it’s—“ A sigh. “The moon is waxing, so wolf instinct is much stronger than usual. Normally I balance better than this, but nearly the entire pack is off-kilter and emotional. So it’s been difficult to shift, sometimes. That’s all.”</p><p>He <em>has</em> been spending a lot of time as a wolf, hasn’t he? Xander doesn’t know if that’s something to worry about, or if it’ll simply get better when the moon passes full and starts shrinking again. When <em>is</em> the full moon, anyway? </p><p>Camilla’s expression clears with the explanation. “Oh, dear,” she says. “I suppose that makes sense. What can we look forward to with full moon?”</p><p>Ryoma’s mouth quirks in something a little short of a smile. “Anyone who can shift, will,” he says. “This late in the year, as early as the moon rises, we’ll be wolves most of the day, and not as... clear-headed as you’re accustomed to. Most of us will go to run in the woods and hunt. It may be odd this month, accounting for Corrin— I don’t know. Eventually we’ll return and pass out. The not-wolf part of the pack will often join us for that.” He hesitates, eyes flicking between Camilla and Xander, and finally rests. “Generally, any disagreements between pack that haven’t been worked out are sorted out, or at least chewed on, around this time.”</p><p>“You mean that literally, don’t you,” Camilla says, delighted.</p><p>“Of course.” Ryoma lifts one shoulder. “I find that comparatively emotions are... not weaker, but perhaps simpler. Purer. As a wolf. Things that seemed complicated before get reduced to their bare essentials, for the most part.”</p><p>“Is there any risk?” Camilla wants to know.</p><p>“It’s several large wolves high on moonlight and uncontrolled by boundaries or humans,” he says dryly. “Yes. Unbalanced wolves are more dangerous, and none of us are so far gone one way or the other that it would become a large risk of harm to others; but there will always be something. It’s not going to be anything so horror-movie as wolves hunting the halls for unsuspecting alfar prey—"</p><p>Camilla laughs, too startled into it to make a show of her amusement, and so it is an honest, wild sort of a thing. Xander treasures the sound.</p><p>“—but it might still be wisest to stay in your rooms until morning the day after, unless you <em>want</em> to play rough.” Ryoma looks vaguely sheepish. “We’ve promised no harm will come to you, and we’ll mostly be out of the house anyway, but please don’t do anything... um.”</p><p>“Stupid,” Camilla fills in cheerfully. “It’s all right, I think I can restrain the urge to fling myself among the wolves. While we’re on the topic, though. <em>Can</em> you turn other people?”</p><p>“It’s possible,” Ryoma says. “But not accidentally, it takes some effort and some pack-bonding. And it isn’t a lightly made decision, either; when the change is made, it will also affect all future possible children.”</p><p>Camilla nods, thoughtful. “Could you change someone who wasn’t human?”</p><p>Ryoma shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. Father might have.” </p><p>The mention of Ryoma’s father, and the knowledge lost thereby, stills them all for some moments, and Camilla pulls back her impish curiosity into something more sober. “Of course,” she says softly. “Well. I will inquire to your mother— do be careful, you two.”</p><p>Careful of <em>what</em>, Xander wants to know, but Camilla is already going, leaving Xander to look at a Ryoma who is very faintly coloring, high across his cheekbones. The whole image is terribly, horribly endearing. </p><p>Ryoma’s shoulders slump when she’s gone, and he pitches toward Xander, stops only with his head on Xander’s shoulder. Automatically Xander brings one arm up around his back, steadies him and strokes his wild hair. He wants to ask— if Ryoma’s truly as all right as he implied to Camilla, if he should be making more of an effort to stay human, if there’s anything Xander can help with.</p><p>The questions lodge in his throat, but Ryoma hums contentedly under his hand, and so that isn’t nothing.</p><p>Ryoma stirs himself sooner rather than later, yawning and stretching. “I need a shower,” he says, “and I might ask your help with a comb?” A sheepish look, from under his eyelashes, as though he’s embarrassed to have to ask.</p><p>Xander tests his hands, nods. He wouldn’t want to be holding a sword any time soon, but he thinks he can manage a comb or brush.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ryoma says, and the brilliant smile he offers then is thoroughly believable.</p><p>It’s easy to lose the low-key thrum of worries about Leo in helping to comb out Ryoma’s hair. It’s not so different from helping his sisters with theirs — the texture is wildly different, of course, but the principles of where to start and how to work out difficult tangles is more or less the same. And Ryoma stays human-shaped all throughout, leaning back against Xander’s knees and making soft, contented noises that Xander isn’t sure he knows he’s making. He’s certainly not about to mention it to Ryoma, just in case it stops.</p><p>Camilla finds them again later in the afternoon, down in the living room where they’d settled on the couch to make the hair combing less awkward. The broad windows see mostly forest, but a few minutes ago Ryoma had murmured that despite the sun not having set yet, the moon was up, still waxing gibbous; and though the contented noises hadn’t changed, there seems to be something more restless about him now, something that wants to move and bound and celebrate and hunt. </p><p>Perhaps Xander’s reading over much into it.</p><p>“Your mother couldn’t find him,” Camilla says, dropping down onto the couch nearby. Xander’s hands still, and his heart races several beats ahead all at once. “I’m going to go over to the house and see if he’s just gotten caught up in research and let his phone die. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I think we all have cause to be rather cross with him if that’s what he’s done.”</p><p>Not disastrous. Maybe. Xander catches his breath and keeps working. Leo is fine. Leo can take care of himself. Leo... </p><p>He’s worried about Leo.</p><p>“I would recommend taking company, if you can,” Ryoma says. He rolls his shoulders as Xander reaches down to pick up some sections of his hair which have escaped. “If there <em>is</em> some issue, it would be best to have company.”</p><p>“That’s why I’m here,” Camilla tells him. “I think it would be good to have someone who’s skilled with scents, don’t you? Would you mind terribly?” </p><p>Ryoma hesitates. “...yes, all right,” he says finally. “I can drive. Xander... I’d welcome your company, but you don’t need to if you’d prefer to stay here?”</p><p>Xander thinks about it, working down those final portions he hasn’t gotten to, Ryoma’s hair thick and textured in his hands. Go back to the house. He realizes, thinking about it now as he’s been avoiding turning his attention to it earlier, that he really wouldn’t mind never seeing it again, as long as he had his family. If they sold it and moved elsewhere he would miss nothing save perhaps Camilla’s forge— but the forge is nothing without Camilla in it, after all. </p><p>He wouldn’t go back, if it wasn’t for Leo; but for Leo’s sake, Xander can go back. He may avoid the master bedroom, though, and he doesn’t think Ryoma or Camilla will judge him overmuch for it. </p><p>He looks over Ryoma’s shoulder at Camilla, nods deliberately and pointedly.</p><p>Camilla’s brief smile for him is soft. “All right,” she says. “The three of us should be sufficient. I’ll let you finish that up, shall I?”</p><p>Ryoma’s shifting on the spot as Xander goes through the last pieces, but his hair lays... well, it will never lay <em>flat</em>, but it’s much tidier when Xander’s done with it. Ryoma takes care of tying it up, pulling a long colorful ribbon out of his sleeve and securing it at the nape of his neck with a tight bow. They stop for Xander to change clothes, for Ryoma to tell Mikoto where they’re going, and for Camilla to make sure she and Xander are wearing their earrings— Xander had, honestly, almost forgotten about his own glow again. It keeps happening. </p><p>He supposes old habits take a while to shift.</p><p>Ryoma drives them, though Camilla offers to take over if he’s too close to shifting to handle. Ryoma waves her off, but admits in the moments after that it might be well if she drives back. Xander knows the way Camilla beams for that just a little too well.</p><p>Her driving is an experience. To say the least.</p><p>The sky is the blue darkness of dusk, growing only darker, by the time they get to the house, and the moon a bright silver disk above, so wide Xander almost thinks it’s full at first. Only Ryoma’s previous note of waxing gibbous makes Xander look again, see the bare pieces of darkness that make it less than a perfect circle. Not full. Not quite. They park at the curb, rather than bothering with the garage, for any number of reasons — Xander tells himself mostly it’s the practical, and not any reticence to actually be inside.</p><p>That would be silly, given that he’s here to be inside.</p><p>“You can always wait with the car,” Camilla says lightly. She’s not looking at him; her hands are propped on her hips as she surveys the house, up and down. There aren’t any lights visible — both surprising and unsurprising. Xander doesn’t think they’ve fully restored power yet, but if Leo were here surely he would have some light. A candle, a flashlight, himself. Anything more than dark windows. </p><p>There’s quiet while Xander doesn’t answer and Camilla performs her own assessments. Finally Camilla shrugs, as if it’s all that simple for her, and starts for the front gate.</p><p>In the end it’s that Xander doesn’t want her to go alone, and so he follows her; but it’s with Ryoma beside him, hand in his.</p><p>Inside the house has a certain chill about it, that of a place that’s gone unheated for several days in the middle of late fall. Camilla pulls a flashlight out of her jacket pocket, and looks to Xander. “Why don’t you take your earring off?” she suggests.</p><p>Mostly because he had <em>yet again</em> forgotten about it in the first place. Xander reaches up and unhooks it gently, and the soft golden glow that paints the walls is only gentle contrast to the circle-beam of blue-white light Camilla swings to and fro. “I really do think inspecting every piece of wiring is a bit ridiculous,” Camilla says with some mild annoyance, “but I suppose it can’t be helped, with two walls vaporized. At least they were able to find the plans for the house. Now. If I were Leo, where would I have been?”</p><p>Leo’s room; Father’s study. Potentially the master bedroom. Xander heads toward the study first — this is practical and not avoidance, with the master bedroom on the top floor and the study more likely to have something interesting. But all they find there is caution tape, luridly brilliant in the twin radiances they shine over it, and left-behind tools from the electricians and carpenters who have been working there. </p><p>“—Wait,” Ryoma says, quite abruptly, and steps into the gap between walls as Xander means to turn around. “Can one of you bring the light back over here? There’s something...”</p><p>Xander moves helpfully closer, and Ryoma reaches into the open spaces of carpentry and insulation, and comes back with a fistful of bright green leaves. He holds them out toward Xander and Camilla, clear confusion showing on his face. “Any deciduous tree should have gone fully brown by now,” he says. </p><p>“We have these lovely inventions called greenhouses, darling,” Camilla says, but her sweet dryness has a rattled sort of edge to it. She plucks one out of Ryoma’s hands, turns it over and over — tears it between her fingers and raises it to her nose. “Well, it certainly <em>seems</em> like a real leaf, although I couldn’t tell you what kind.” </p><p>“Nor I,” Ryoma says, and pockets some of them, presumably to take back. “That’s only one issue, though: what are fresh summer leaves doing in your walls?”</p><p>None of them have an answer for it, and none of them like it, which is made plain by the equally unhappy expressions shared around the little triangle of the three of them. </p><p>“Let’s see about Leo’s room,” Camilla says then. “Or the upstairs— which would you prefer? We’ll get further faster if we split up, and this house is cold.” She makes an exaggerated shivering gesture about it, which is somewhat ruined by the fact Xander has never known her to have cold hands once, as if she has some internal fire that keeps the whole of her warm even in the depth of winter.</p><p>It’s the perfect out. Xander never has to go upstairs and enter the space that was his father’s again. </p><p>Soundlessly, he points up. Ryoma raises eyebrows at this choice, but he doesn’t say anything about it, only, “I’ll come with you.”</p><p>“Try not to get distracted by making out,” Camilla says, but the teasing falls flat with her face sober as it is, and the worry about Leo a clear creeping thing hanging in the air between them all. Ryoma doesn’t answer her.</p><p>Xander leads the way further upstairs, and they split off from Camilla at the appropriate branching. His light becomes the only thing shining their way forward, something terribly impossible to deny now where he might have weeks or months ago. He wonders idly how many wolf qualities Ryoma has, if he’ll see better in the dark than the average human, and he almost turns to ask. Doesn’t quite. Another time. </p><p>Like the study below, the master bedroom is half blocked off with tools and caution tape. The priority has been higher downstairs, apparently; here there is barely the hint of the shape of the wall that will be rebuilt. Xander eyes the space beyond it and for several moments thinks about turning around. All the while Ryoma waits patiently. </p><p>...no. They need to know if Leo has been here. Xander lifts tape to duck underneath it, and plants his feet carefully in the light he casts, and Ryoma follows him with a light tread. </p><p>The room looks nothing like Xander remembers, even accounting for the fact that his father’s body is gone. Perhaps it’s his light, which casts kinder shadows and illuminates corners that had been grey and lifeless before. Perhaps it’s Ryoma’s presence, solid somewhere behind him, a comfort even if Xander isn’t touching him at all. Perhaps it’s just sinking in how gone his father is. Regardless of the cause, all the furnishing looks somehow smaller, and the heavy weight of curtains doesn’t pool in shadows.</p><p>There’s also a draft stirring the far curtain, and something about the way it settles looks strange in a way that can’t only be accounted for by the lack of a tenant in the room.</p><p>Frowning at this entire concept — there shouldn’t be a window open at this time of year and night, and he can’t think why Leo would have opened it — Xander moves past the bed to go and see about it. He almost holds his breath passing the bed, then deliberately breathes. There is old dust, and old metal, and the copper rasp of blood he hopes he’s imagining; but more than that there is the brisk chill of wild night air. Xander pulls the curtain back.</p><p>Ah. It’s not that the window’s open. It’s that it’s been broken, and a heavy tree branch is some way into it, twigs like reaching fingers caught up in the curtain and giving it that odd drape. Xander frees the curtain from it, hears glass clinking and realizes there are shards caught in the curtain, too. What a mess— at least a window should be an easier replacement than an entire wall. </p><p>“Xander?” Ryoma’s moving closer behind him. Xander angles his body so he’s not in the way of Ryoma seeing the culprit of the broken window. “Ah. That’s odd. I didn’t think there were trees that close to the house?” Ryoma’s frowning, clearly visible in the light Xander casts. “I don’t know the grounds, perhaps I missed something.”</p><p>A chill settles in Xander, colder than the breeze. Ryoma’s right, is the thing. He shakes his head urgently, shaping an unvoiced <em>no</em> with his mouth. </p><p>Either ignoring or not privy to the chill and sinking sense of dread, Ryoma reaches out to touch the tree. All seems well for the initial moment — Ryoma pushes the twigs out the window, ostensibly back where they belong, but then he reaches more carefully through shattered glass and up to a thicker portion of wood that looks damp, nearly glistening with moisture. Bright blue fizzes and sparks, loud and cracking like a warning, and Ryoma yanks his hand back in a hurry, wincing. He shakes it out, looks it over as Xander does — no blood, which is a mercy, but a pair of the same green leaves drift to the ground.</p><p>In Xander’s light, the wood has been singed where Ryoma touched it. “That was not my intention,” Ryoma says clearly. </p><p>Not much of what happens with Raijinto seems to be Ryoma’s intention, but by that same token, so far it has seemed to take extreme measure to pull it from him. Measures like things Raijinto does not itself precisely approve of. Like other magics.</p><p>He can nearly see his thought process in Ryoma’s eyes. “We should find Camilla,” Ryoma says. “Right now.”</p><p>Xander agrees wholeheartedly. They leave the master bedroom at a quick jog, and Xander lengthens his stride to pass Ryoma into the lead. He remembers, belatedly, that Leo has shown some handiness with vines, some magic of one growing thing or another— but all the same, it doesn’t seem like this is that. Nothing in this house has felt like Leo or Brynhildr to Xander’s admittedly limited senses.</p><p>Camilla is in Leo’s room. So are a number of other things that shouldn’t be there, lit up in broad waving strokes of Camilla’s flashlight: green leaves scattered like confetti, dark vines or roots or – something – in a knotted ball on Leo’s bed, with puddled moisture beneath. Xander thinks for a heart-stopping moment that Leo might be inside them, caught by some kind of — evil plant? magic backlash? But it’s too small for him. Camilla stands between bed and window, a number of similar long reaching strands creeping across her boots and twining her wrists, moving even as Xander watches. She seems— </p><p>Unconcerned. Where she lays hands over the sneaking root-strands, heat follows, and eventually they curl away from her blackened, steaming with evaporated water. A heavy, wet scent Xander can’t identify rises up. “That’s very rude,” Camilla says, scolding, and crushes another beneath her boot. “Not to mention I’m sure whatever you are, you weren’t invited here.”</p><p>Her hands do more work than her words. She glances back toward the door in a moment, alerted to their presence by the gold fall of Xander’s light. “Oh, good, I was going to scream for you in a minute. Any idea what these are?”</p><p>Xander has nothing, but he feels sure she was addressing Ryoma. For the meanwhile Xander moves toward the bed, eying the root-vine ball cautiously. They’re not perfectly tight; he thinks there’s something inside them. Siegfried could cut them clean and easily, but he doesn’t have the blade with him.</p><p>“I have no idea,” Ryoma admits resignedly. “I can tell you dryads will be more or less unhappy if you compare them to creeping vines, so this probably isn’t them, not to mention I don’t think they’d have any cause to come after Leo. Other than that, Raijinto doesn’t seem to like the plants with the green leaves; but Raijinto doesn’t seem to like a lot of things. And this doesn’t look quite the same as what’s outside, but it all seems <em>wet</em>.”</p><p>“Hm.” Camilla rips the last of the encroaching roots off of her, leans toward the window, and slams it shut viciously. It cuts off the few creepers still across the sill, and some few inches fall into the room abruptly, curling and shriveling. “Doesn’t like how?”</p><p>“Involuntary sparks,” Ryoma clarifies. </p><p>“That’s very helpful of it,” Camilla says sweetly, and comes back toward the bed and the issues Xander is prodding at. “Is there anything comparable it might have disliked recently?”</p><p>Ryoma shrugs, a helpless flicker of movement at the corners of Xander’s vision. “Fujin’s bowstring, which I would have thought it would get along with. It was iffy on Brynhildr, but that magic was being directed at us, and it’s the same issue with Garon— difficult to tell if it’s dislike or defense.”</p><p>“Two of those things are powerful magical artifacts that aren’t Raijinto,” Camilla notes. “Perhaps it’s possessive.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Ryoma agrees. “It’s hard to say, with only this much information, and that means we can’t pinpoint whatever plants these are. But— the vines on the bed. They look different?”</p><p>He’s right. These are dark, rich green and brown compared to the brilliant, sharper green of the leaves, and though there’s moisture beneath the coils these particular vines seem dry, as if they shed the water. A thought plucking at his instincts, Xander reaches out before he can second-guess himself out of it, touches the coiled and tangling vines.</p><p>They shiver under his hand, and then go still, a strangeness which highlights that before they <em>hadn’t</em> been, had been shifting ceaselessly against each other in the slow sort of motion that tricks the eye. </p><p>“Xander, what are you doing?” Camilla says, more sharply than is her wont. </p><p>He has absolutely no idea. Gently he picks at one of the vines, seeing if he can loosen it from the others. It won’t be as efficient as cutting, but if they’re not actively hostile, perhaps they’ll get the idea. As much as self-moving vines can have ideas. </p><p>The vine doesn’t give at first. Xander’s nearly about to give the whole thing up as a foolish idea when something under it finally <em>does</em> move, and there under his hand is a slow shuffling, the ball of roots and vines lumping awkwardly as its components shift this way and that. The ball gets smaller, becomes a latticed structure instead of a solid one, such that by his own light Xander can begin to see inside. </p><p>They’ve all been coil-caged around a book. </p><p>Dread wraps icy fingers around Xander’s spine again, fresh with alarm and sudden proof. It’s a large book, heavy and antique looking, with flat cabochons set at the corners and center of the cover. The title isn’t legible— it’s written in old runes with sharp angles. All the same, he knows which book this is, knows it by the way the gems return a little fraction of the sun’s radiance, knows it by the hundred places he’s seen Leo carry it. “Brynhildr,” Xander says numbly. </p><p>How terrible that this should be the thing that sets certainty in him again. His voice is creaky with disuse, but there is no guessing to be made here, no other options: This is Brynhildr, and Leo would not be parted from it willingly, and so Leo is in some trouble made of everything creeping in this house, the dampness and the poison-bright leaves and the scent like salt and wetness.</p><p>So: Xander is going to fix things, and get his brother out of that trouble, no matter what it takes. Rarely have things been so clear as to be this much a relief.</p><p>At its name, the book seems to sigh. The rest of the vines collapse limply to the bed, making a loose spiraling circle around it, and the book itself flips open, pages riffling in a wind that isn’t there. It settles open to a page perhaps two thirds of the way through, and for several moments this, too, is all unreadable runes, before Xander reaches out to touch.</p><p>At his touch the page shivers and rearranges itself – not entirely intelligible, but better. There’s long streaks of sinuous ink, something serpentine that never quite makes it to description; there’s a sense of depth, with a full half of one leaf given over to pooling darkness. In the remaining a scattering of words crop up: <em>wilderness, hunt, hills, untouched, the endless horizon—</em></p><p>Xander half-turns, looks to Ryoma and reaches out to beckon to him. He’s honestly just forgotten to use words at this point.</p><p>“What is it?” Ryoma moves up beside him, leans over to see, and his expression crashes rapidly from worried curiosity to something more sincerely alarmed. “That can’t be right. If the lords and ladies were to hunt, it wouldn’t be <em>now</em>.”</p><p>Camilla edges up beside as well, making the three of them very close over the same book. She doesn’t touch, only leans and makes thoughtful noises. “But that is what it’s implying, isn’t it? Although the sea…” The scent lingers in the air; outside Xander can still hear the rustling of leaves. Perhaps he imagines the sound of things growing too quickly.</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head, more of disbelief than denial. “It seems to be? And it would follow that it tells us of its wielder, but—I don’t understand. Even putting aside the concept of the ‘wild hunt’, this isn’t a place where borders are thin, and not a <em>day</em> for it, either – not full moon, not All Hallow’s Eve, nothing. If we assume Leo was taken from <em>here</em>, then he would have been inside a <em>home</em>, inside his own room. That’s an old, old guarantee of safety, and he’s not originally theirs— how this happened is past any stories I know of.”</p><p> “But it’s not a home,” Camilla says rather abruptly, her visible eye glittering oddly. “Not right now. It has beds, and walls, and doors that lock, but part of the reason we’re all living at your house right now is that it’s not fit for human habitation until the inspectors approve the wiring.”</p><p>Ryoma sits down hard on the edge of Leo’s bed. Some of the stray vines tap at his hand, his hip, and then recoil with a quick flash of blue sparks. “But why <em>now</em>,” he says dazedly.</p><p>Xander finds this answer readily in a memory, Leo all light and warping energy, furious and accusing: <em>what name do you prefer, daughter of the line of Nemed?</em></p><p>“He drew their attention,” Xander says. His voice still catches and creaks, but there is no <em>time</em> for that; he clears his throat, shoves uncertainty down and down to bury, and tries again. “The things that you do not say about your mother. They are not said because they would draw attention; and Leo is the one who said them. He hadn’t stayed the night here since everything— happened.” He almost falters there, can feel his throat wanting to close up before he summarizes the events of weeks past and simply presses on. “Regardless of tradition. That would work, wouldn’t it?”</p><p>“Moon and stars and gods above,” Ryoma murmurs tiredly. “It likely would.”</p><p>“I would imagine that means we aren’t safe here either, doesn’t it?” Camilla points out. She gestures to the window, shines her flashlight out of it again — there are branches pressed against it, shifting slowly. “Take Brynhildr. We should go. Now. The pack house should still be guarded, shouldn’t it?”</p><p>“Mother’s wards,” Ryoma agrees, and stands up. He makes to reach for Brynhildr and sparks jump from his fingers, sputtering off a bubble around the book that hadn’t been there a moment before. Xander can’t even be surprised about the sparks — Raijinto guards jealously, it seems. Perhaps he should be grateful he himself is allowed to touch Ryoma. “It will have to be one of you,” Ryoma says, and gets off the bed, moving back toward the door. “Camilla, will you drive back? I don’t trust myself to stay human.”</p><p>Camilla trades looks with Xander. He sweeps one out to indicate Brynhildr, giving her the go-ahead as the only unattached person there; Camilla bends over and slips her hands under the covers. “It’s <em>heavy</em>,” she says with some surprise, straining visibly to close it. “Brynhildr, it’s me or Xander, and he seems to belong to Siegfried— I won’t keep you for myself, but we can’t leave you here.”</p><p>The book slams closed, all the force in Camilla’s arms suddenly applied to no resistance. She scoops it up without missing a beat, tucks it under one arm and wields her flashlight meaningfully with the other. </p><p>“Let’s go, then,” Ryoma says, and heads out of the room, sure-footed even though Xander’s light doesn’t stretch so far ahead as to be entirely useful to him. Xander follows him, and Camilla brings up the rear. </p><p>The front door doesn’t want to open when Ryoma tugs at it. Xander raises his hand, shedding light along the door and its seams, and finds wet root-tendrils grasping through the hinges, jamming the places where empty space is desirable. “We’ll go out through the forge,” Camilla says, purposefully, and turns expecting them to follow. Without question, Ryoma does, and Xander with him. Beside him rather than following for a moment, Xander can see Ryoma in his own light, the tense set to his shoulders, the way his eyes don’t look quite human any longer— the set and proportion is different, and the shape of his head isn’t right. </p><p>It isn’t comfortable to look at, necessarily, but Xander does anyway; he has had enough of looking away. And when Ryoma sees him looking there is a quick flash of a smile for him, strained but honest, and even in the midst of this it warms his heart.</p><p>Camilla leads them easily, down stairs into the basement. It’s cool down here, not the hearth-heat it should have, and alarmingly dim without some red-hot radiance. There aren’t any branches down here, though, so Xander supposes that’s a step ahead. Camilla pauses only to pick up a broad wrench, shifting things around so her flashlight is nestled against Brynhildr instead, and then they’re off further: through the wide door into the adjoining garage, where two classic cars lie unused and white-cloaked like ghosts. There’s a ramp up to the street-level exit. The switch to open the garage door is necessarily unfunctioning, but Camilla motions Ryoma and Xander at the door, and it isn’t too hard to get a grip on it.</p><p>The too-loud sound of metal creaking makes Xander aware of just how quiet things had been before by contrast. He and Ryoma share the load — he’s conscious of the dim ache in his hands, the pull at the mostly-healed wounds, but nothing turns sharp, so he reasons it’s well enough to keep going for now. Once it’s over their heads, Ryoma holds it in place, gestures to Xander and Camilla to duck under. When they have he does too, and exerts himself to slam the door back down. It may not be locked, but it will deter the casual intrusion, at least.</p><p>Those who have intruded are not casual.</p><p>“Keys,” Camilla says briskly, lengthening her stride around the block. Ryoma tosses them to her without visibly second-guessing — his eyes are just faintly luminous when Xander catches him in the fall of the streetlight, reflective as a human’s aren’t.</p><p>And that’s it. It’s an easier getaway than expected, a stretching tension cut to relief such that Xander sits in the back seat of Ryoma’s car and stares at his trembling hands and can’t figure out why they’re shaking. Camilla seems to be driving with Brynhildr on her lap, and at speeds that are definitely past the recommended limits.</p><p>No one stops her, least of all Xander or Ryoma.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mangroves are actually super cool trees and not evil at all.</p><p>We may experience brief slowdowns in chapter posting -- some of the chapters in the remainder require more thorough edits. Thanks for your patience and company through this fic!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. hawk and handsaw, hunt and hound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Their</em><em> fault</em> rattles around in Ryoma’s head and heart all the trip back to the house, such that he has to be elbowed by Camilla to give useful directions when the path ahead becomes less than clear with Mother’s obfuscating wards. By the time they’re settled in the parking lot, Ryoma has to actively fight to stay human and not slip back into the comforting clarity of wolf shape — between everything, it would be so, so easy to just shift and howl and run and run and <em>run</em>. </p><p>He can’t. He can’t leave Xander, and he can’t leave this mess to be cleaned up by everyone else. He has to stay human. Sunlight-scent and the pain of digging his nails into his palms, rich earth and the remembering that Xander has still said precious few words and some problems do not solve themselves that quickly. Despite his best efforts, though, he spills out of the car on all fours, dragging deep shuddering breaths in and clinging to Xander’s scent. He can feel his body changing, the angles of his bones shifting and grinding against each other. No. Human. Two legs. Have to stay human.</p><p>Gravel crunches and Xander comes around to hunker down in front of him. Ryoma tries to say something and finds that his mouth isn’t equipped for human speech, and that he has different shaped teeth. Hell. He hasn’t been unbalanced this badly in years. </p><p>A warm hand against his cheek. Ryoma sighs gratefully and pushes his head against the gesture. He thinks if he loses the fight to stay human here, he may not reclaim the shape for a few days; and while Xander’s scent is normally intoxicating, and still <em>is</em>, right now it’s also something clear that cuts through all the other turmoil. Something he knows. Something he could pick out anywhere, even at the height of the moon. Something he loves. </p><p>“Can you stand?” Xander’s voice is soft, and still a little rough. </p><p>Ryoma closes his eyes and focuses: the sound of the voice, the heat of the touch, the scent of the man. Waning gibbous, last quarter, waning crescent, new. Inhale with the waning, exhale with the waxing. It helps, a little. He lifts one hand to Xander’s, takes it from his face only so he can twine their fingers together. He has to remember this: hands are useful for many reasons. </p><p>Like this, he can get his legs under him, use his free hand on the car to help pull himself up. Xander rises with him, Ryoma can feel, and when he opens his eyes again there is only a genuine concern in Xander’s face. </p><p>Ryoma admits to himself, because he must if he wishes to remain in charge of himself, that there is a part of him that fears Xander will hold them all responsible for his brother’s abduction. It is Mother’s trouble that has come down on them now, and though Leo is the one who pulled its attention, Mother is the one who had its eye on her all along. </p><p>He wouldn’t blame her. As much as blame the hare for being hunted. But he is not always the most rational where his siblings are in danger; and neither, he is sure, are the Königs.</p><p>But Xander holds his hand as they go inside. Ryoma takes comfort in being <em>home. </em>Leo is gone and not dead; Mother would know how to get to a place they once left. All is troubled, but not lost. </p><p>Camilla holds Brynhildr close to her chest, and the book doesn’t object. </p><p>Ryoma leads them upstairs, heading for Mother’s study, where he assumes Mother is. He’s right, fortunately, and they don’t need to go canvassing the house for her — it would be a bad idea to shift to catch her scent, he knows. But she’s here, behind her desk, eyes distant in the way she has of looking elsewhere. They’re a few steps inside the door when her attention snaps to them, and her gaze flicks between the three of them, taking in Ryoma’s struggle and Xander’s grimness, and the tome Camilla holds—</p><p>Mother’s pen slips from her fingers and rolls off the desk. Camilla crosses the space with long, purposeful strides, halts before Mother’s desk, and drops Brynhildr to it, from high enough that there’s a rattling <em>slam</em> when it hits. Mother stares at it, this confirmation, with a terrible pain suddenly <em>visible</em> about her— and that is the worst, that she shows it now, where before grief and yearning have always had to be smelled on her or taken from subtext. </p><p>He had something too, Ryoma remembers. He digs in his pocket with clumsy fingers and comes out with the leaves he had found, creased and crumpled but still that verdant, brilliant green. He shows them wordlessly to Mother, and she just beckons, apparently too overcome for words. </p><p>Xander goes with Ryoma to hand the leaves over. Mother picks one up, turns it over and over in her hands. “These are mangroves,” she says distantly. “A plant that thrives best where the river meets the sea; one endangered by humans as so many others. It should not be <em>here</em>.”</p><p>“Then <em>where</em>?” Camilla demands. “Where has my brother gone?”</p><p>Mother opens her mouth and tries, Ryoma can <em>see</em> her trying, but a geas does not care much for the situational factors. Her throat works, and the words do not come. Which means—</p><p>Ryoma needs to speak. He grips Xander’s hand and tries his hardest, and finds that though it is a little difficult, at least the shape of his mouth is correct now. And at least, at least Leo inadvertently confirmed that which Ryoma hadn’t <em>strictly</em> ever had said out loud to him before. “Nemed was king of one of the peoples of Ireland,” he says. “I don’t know exactly which— that is, there were many invasions, and more than one can trace heritage to him. But the most likely is the— Tuatha dé Danann. I don’t know if I’m saying it right.” </p><p>He almost certainly isn’t, if Mother’s resigned expression is to go off, but she blinks slowly and inclines her head. Good. Even if she can’t say it, she can agree or disagree with him; and now that they have been <em>seen</em>, drawing attention is no longer chief among worries. “They agreed to leave the land that was theirs,” Ryoma says, watching her carefully, “but rather than go to another place, they went to a different— layer? <em>Under the hills</em> is how I’ve seen it most often, but it isn’t underground like dwarves, it’s just— <em>underneath</em>. Right?”</p><p>Mother nods. Ryoma lets his breath out in a long hiss. “So. That’s where Leo has been taken.” It’s all the words he has to say. He’s not sure what else to add. He doesn’t even know how to get there. But he knows what the place is, and that is a start. </p><p>Camilla folds her arms. She looks, to say the least, stony. Ryoma checks in on Xander, whose hand in his is still warm, and he finds still a grim countenance, chilly and removed; but when Xander sees Ryoma looking at him, there are softer creases at the corners of his eyes, something just a little gentler about the way he looks at Ryoma. </p><p>Ryoma could not let go now if he tried. </p><p>“How do we get there?” Camilla asks then, and does not sound like she will take no for an answer. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Mother says, and shakes her head. “It was— halfway around the world—" Her words flee her again, and she breathes out a frustrated sigh. </p><p>“But Leo was taken from <em>here</em>,” Camilla says firmly. “So it must be possible, one way or another.” </p><p>Mother tries a few different things, and Camilla waits her out. Finally Mother manages to say, “How was he taken?”</p><p>At the prompting Brynhildr on the desk springs open again. Ryoma flinches, startled by the motion; Xander tugs gently at his hand to pull him closer, and Ryoma goes more than willingly, presses shoulder to shoulder and breathes calming sunlight. Pages rustle and lay open to the same one they saw earlier. “...ah,” Mother says, peering over the page. “That answers that question. This is an unlikely time for such things...”</p><p>“Ryoma said the same thing.” Camilla taps fingers against her arm. “So how do we make it unlikely in our favor?”</p><p>Mother shakes her head initially, but settles into thought, fingers pressed to her forehead. “With the resources we have at our disposal...” She sighs softly. “A fairy ring in the woods might do to begin reaching — we do have a number of magical resources, and unless I am mistaken Brynhildr deals in part with plants... Fujin is the lord of wind, and there is precedent for wind to be an opener of ways... and there is the complication of the full moon. I am well aware you will want to retrieve your brother as soon as possible, but the help we can give will be limited over the next two days.”</p><p>“—the full moon,” Camilla says, in a new and startled tone, and holds up a finger. “Let me think. Isn’t it— independent of werewolves, wouldn’t you call the full moon auspicious, as far as time goes?”</p><p>“Well,” Mother says. “I would suppose so. Certainly the phase of the moon figures into more standard witchcraft more often than not.”</p><p>Camilla turns to pace the length of the room, boots a solid rhythm even on the carpet. Ryoma tries to swivel his ears to follow her sounds and finds he doesn’t have the right muscles for that right now. When she comes back there’s a fierce light in her eyes. “The pack runs with the moon,” she says. “Don’t they? Ryoma mentioned something of hunting.”</p><p>Mother begins to wear almost precisely the look she would wear if one of her wolf-shaped children brought her a live salmon: slightly alarmed, and more startled only because she had not previously considered that whatever is happening might possibly be something that could happen in the first place. “The pack is not in the habit of... slipping between things when they run,” she says carefully; but she is considering it. Ryoma knows he would gladly take on whatever risk Mother is currently considering whether she dares expose them to. </p><p>“What would it take?” Camilla presses. She is alight with something Ryoma can’t name. “Can you not do <em>something</em>?”</p><p>Mother presses her mouth into a tight, white-edged line and takes her time over an answer. “I am trying,” she says, all careful and bitten-precise, “to decide which risks are more acceptable; for nothing I can think of does not leave someone’s family vulnerable, and we will not be able to... prioritize harmoniously.”</p><p>Ryoma swears he can see Camilla bite her tongue, and the words she finally comes out with are sweet enough in tone, if <em>only</em> tone. “My brother is already vulnerable,” she says. “Do figure that into your assessment of risks, won’t you? In the mean time, I shall borrow your library for some further research.” She picks Brynhildr off the desk, closing it, and there is only the barest hint of an argument with its weight.</p><p>Camilla has already turned to go as Mother flinches with the slap of guilt. Ryoma feels Xander’s shoulder tense against his, turns his head to look and finds a grave, distant expression on Xander’s face. He might be marble. Ryoma thinks plaintively, distantly, of curling up and whining, but it won’t be nearly as useful in this form, and he shouldn’t shift right now. He’s pretty sure about that much, even if it’s getting harder to hang on to the concept of why. </p><p>It’s going to be a rough full moon, one way or another. </p><p>Mother rests her head in her hands when it becomes clear that neither Ryoma or Xander is going to leave immediately. It is likely the furthest she’ll let herself bend with someone else present. </p><p>Xander still does not move, and his gaze seems very far away; but before very much longer has passed, he squeezes Ryoma’s hand with a gentleness that’s at odds with the look on his face. So little a thing settles Ryoma to a terribly pathetic degree. He takes a breath, then another, and they come easier, and after a few breaths he rests his head against Xander’s shoulder and closes his eyes to focus on moon phases and listening, and the rumble of Xander’s voice in his chest. “Tell me of the risks,” Xander says, and nothing more.</p><p>Mother seems surprised when she speaks; Ryoma hears a distant rustling as if she has changed how she sits. “I— yes. Certainly. The current situation obviously cannot be let be. Anyone who goes after— there— is at risk. The whole pack cannot be sent. If I go with you, the remaining pack here will be at risk, because they are dear to me. If I do not go, Corrin must, and I do not— I cannot— I am sure you do not either. So the question is, then, on which of my family do I invite harm?” </p><p>Her voice sounds terribly trembling by the end, so much Ryoma isn’t sure he would know it was Mother if he had not heard her at the beginning, starting to speak. He wants to go to her, and cannot make himself move.</p><p>Xander makes a quiet sound, something that comes off understanding, and there’s a pause. Ryoma hears his breath, in and out and hesitating over words. “Why... Corrin?”</p><p>“Because,” Mother says, and Ryoma hears her teeth click as she cuts herself off, or perhaps is made to cut herself off. “No. That is— there is—“</p><p>“Can’t talk about it,” Ryoma puts in. He feels a long way away now, too, and the words are not so much hard to form as they simply take a while. “Is it because she’s your daughter?” It would pretty much track, he thinks, if it took someone fae to find their way back to fae lands, but... Corrin has never been there. Or has she? She was young when Mother came to them, a babe in arms. Maybe she <em>was</em> born there. How long did Mother spend running?</p><p>“Six and half a dozen,” says Mother, audibly strained. So: Ryoma has something like the issue, but needs the other half of the carton of eggs. She tries something else — Ryoma can hear the sound of her voice caught in her throat — but nothing more comes out. </p><p>He thinks, and he thinks, as well as he can. Like but not-like, half of one thing... oh. Ryoma feels very slow on the uptake, in retrospect. “Her father,” Ryoma says. His head feels very heavy on Xander’s shoulder. “That’s it, isn’t it? The one you fled from all those years ago was Corrin’s father.”</p><p>Mother cannot answer, but that seems answer enough. </p><p>“So you could find the way because you have walked it before,” Ryoma guesses, “and if not you, then Corrin could follow a blood tie; but without some guide, we won’t get where we want to go, no matter how wild the hunt and how vast the power and how auspicious the time.”</p><p>“Brynhildr is a tome of great resources,” Mother says. “Perhaps it could show the way, but the one to whose hand it would go most readily...”</p><p>Would be Leo, who is currently stolen away. It brings them back to square one, of a sort, but it makes Ryoma think of something. “Leo touched Raijinto,” he says. “That day at the house. Maybe I could...” He can’t seem to remember what Leo smells like, but between Brynhildr and whatever things are left here... perhaps a magical brush and a scent connection would be enough. </p><p>“Will you be clear enough to do so, tomorrow?” Mother asks gently, and Ryoma can’t answer her for certain one way or the other. </p><p>“I understand,” Xander says, quiet and intent. “I will confer with my— my sisters.”</p><p>“The moon rises early, this time of year,” Mother says. Everything else is gone from her voice in favor of tiredness. “If you mean to use the pack’s hunt, any preparations will need to be well finished before tomorrow’s moonrise. Keep it in mind.” </p><p>It feels like Xander nods, and then he tugs softly at Ryoma’s hand. Ryoma makes an inquiring sound — is this going to require him to move? — and then there’s a slightly more insistent tug, from which he can assume that yes, moving will probably be necessary. Oh, all right. For Xander. </p><p>Mother doesn’t try to stop them. </p><p>Out in the hall, Ryoma can’t hear or smell anyone else nearby but Xander, and he would be hard pressed to put his eyes anywhere else now. Xander turns to face him, not letting go of Ryoma’s hand, and for a little while like that they just study each other in peace. Ryoma sees: that Xander carries a weight, and it is the weight of someone responsible for his family, but that it will not crush him; that Xander is clear-eyed even if there are shadows beneath; that Xander is still holding his hand.</p><p>He wonders what Xander sees in him here and now.</p><p>Xander is the one who moves first; he reaches up to touch Ryoma’s face gently again, smooth a thumb across his cheekbone before letting his touch drift lower, finding an easy place to settle pressing slow, careful circles against the corner of Ryoma’s jaw. Ryoma sighs gratefully, eyes going lidded. He is very easy to seduce into anything like cuddling, and he’s well aware of that. </p><p>With equal care, without further words, Xander leans in and kisses him. It isn’t so passionate that Ryoma will get carried away in it, just a sweet warm press of lips to lips. Something intentional that doesn’t overwhelm. Ryoma could weep for the sheer thoughtfulness of it, how he isn’t so swamped in Xander’s scent and warmth that he winds up swept away in animal instinct, but the sweetness lingers perfectly. </p><p>It’s for the best Xander remembers to take a step back. Ryoma might not have, all things considered. But: he takes neither of his hands away, and for this, too, Ryoma is grateful. </p><p>“If you shift,” Xander says. Ryoma has the impression from his cadence that each word is an effort, carefully chosen. “You will not return to human shape until after the full moon, will you?”</p><p>Not impossible — stranger things have happened, after all — but with the moon so rounded it barely even qualifies as gibbous any more, and a hundred yearnings and fears tangled all up together, Ryoma does not think it likely he will <em>want</em> to, once he has given in to the other part of him. He shakes his head, only fractionally so he does not dislodge Xander’s touch. </p><p>“Stay with me,” Xander says. “Please. It would be... helpful. If you stayed human as long as you can. But either way, I would not like to do— this. Whatever comes next. Without you.” </p><p>These are the most words Xander’s said in days, and Ryoma can’t even summon a proper response, still half-occupied with fighting off the urge to go and find a packmate to howl with or a corner to hide in. What he <em>can</em> do is press his forehead against Xander’s, eyes closed again, and take the moment to savor all the sense-memories, the tender heavy beating of his heart loud in his ears and the heat of each individual place where Xander touches him. </p><p>Ah, if they had all the time in the world. But not right now.</p><p>“I will do my best,” Ryoma says, though it comes on a heavy tongue and an effort of will still harder than it has been in years. “And by your siblings.”</p><p>What he means is that he intends to look out for them as he would his, and fortunately Xander seems to catch the drift, even though Ryoma can’t figure out how to shape whatever other words he would put on it. “Thank you,” Xander says simply, and lifts their joined hands so he can kiss Ryoma’s knuckles.</p><p>Ryoma very nearly wants to cry for the simple sweetness of the gesture, despite everything. His eyes feel hot, but no tears fall. Not yet. It’s a slippery slope, giving in to emotions at a time like this.</p><p>They linger there a little while longer, in that quiet leaning and feather-light touching, and Ryoma stays as long as he’s allowed, drinking in the warmth and the scent of him. Unsurprisingly it’s Xander who makes the first move; but he doesn’t let go of Ryoma’s hand, either, only tugs at him like a question.</p><p>Like Xander, Ryoma can’t seem to muster the words to go with this. His answer comes in the form of following, easy and focused only on Xander, wherever he might go.</p><p>One step at a time. </p>
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<a name="section0049"><h2>49. known devils</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only place Xander can think to go, at first, is to the library; so it’s there he heads, Ryoma following behind him like a particularly tall duckling, both of them rendered more or less mute by the frustrations of the situation. <em>Camilla</em> is Xander’s priority, since she has a protective drive — perhaps even a better one than he, right now — and still knows more about the beings they are and the things they can do.</p><p>He hasn’t even thought about how to tell Elise and Corrin that Leo is… Gone. Missing. Abducted by <em>something</em> that Mikoto can’t name and Ryoma doesn’t entirely understand. The thought of having to stand in front of them and explain it hits like a heavy blow, closes up Xander’s throat as surely as the last few weeks, and he slows his pace halfway through the stairs.</p><p>There’s a wordless inquiring noise from Ryoma behind him. Xander can’t think what to say, so instead squeezes his hand and keeps going, if slower than he was.</p><p>Camilla’s where Xander expected her to be, at the central table in the library with an array of books around her, a stack to one side and the rest open to various pages within arm’s reach. Brynhildr is closest to her, in a place where she touches it every time she moves. Her hair is clipped back, too, severe in the way it accentuates the lines of her face and scar.</p><p>She doesn’t look up for them, but she does lift one hand in absent acknowledgment before reaching for the book on the top of the stack and cracking it open to the table of contents. “Did you ascertain anything further?” she wants to know.</p><p>Sort of, but a summary does not miraculously fall out of Xander’s mouth when he opens it. There’s silence for several moments instead, and it’s this that prompts Camilla to look at them. Her expression is distinctly unhappy, but she softens within a moment or two. “Oh, <em>Xander</em>,” she says, resigned.</p><p>Xander wonders what his face is doing, that she’s had such a reaction. At least he knows Ryoma is still with him, if perhaps having issues with the shape of his skull — Xander had felt the shift of muscle and bone under his fingers, earlier, and while there is still a hand in his, he hasn’t looked back recently to see how much trouble Ryoma is experiencing.</p><p>At least neither of them is alone. He tugs Ryoma toward a chair, and himself leans on it, not really willing to sit right now. Ryoma doesn’t sit either, instead half-perches on the arm next to where Xander leans.</p><p>Camilla regards all this and her mouth twists in a wry, not entirely willing smile. “Should I be prepared for more wolves?” she asks.</p><p>Xander looks at Ryoma; Ryoma looks at Xander. He still <em>appears</em> human enough, although when he speaks there’s definitely something not quite human about his voice and the pointed array of his teeth. “Perhaps,” Ryoma says. “We came straight here.”</p><p>“Hm,” Camilla says, and gestures to the table. “What about you? Any insights?”</p><p>Slowly, Ryoma shakes his head, eyes half-closed. “Not much,” he says. “Fae. Corrin’s father. Need her to find him. The more pack run, the better. Needs at least— four? Four.”</p><p>Camilla takes the information rather well, all things considered, with a pinched expression. Xander hesitates. “…or Mikoto,” he manages finally. Mikoto could find the way back.</p><p>Ryoma nods to him, eyes tight. “Someone has to,” he agrees. “Without a guide, we can’t run there.”</p><p>“So a blood tie, or someone who’s been there before,” Camilla sums up. She rests her head against her fist, drums the fingers of her other hand against Brynhildr. “Mikoto knows more of magic and of the lands. Corrin would be safer here, and it is not her battle to fight, not really. Even if the culprit <em>is</em> technically her father.”</p><p>Ryoma tenses up immediately, and Xander squeezes his hand tight in turn. He knows. Leo is his brother; Corrin is his sister. Mikoto is Ryoma’s mother. “If Mikoto goes, she can’t maintain wards here,” Xander says carefully.</p><p>Words fail him for outlining the rest of the idea, but Camilla seems to pick at least some of it up without Xander having to find all the right things to say. “How many people fall under her protection?” she wants to know, directing this more at Ryoma.</p><p>“Several,” Ryoma says. “Not all wolves. Us. Orochi and Kagero. Saizo, Kaze. Yukimura.” He pauses, looks down — he’s counting on his fingers, and his eyes are no longer the human shade they were. “Ten more here sometimes, in town sometimes. Xander’s—” He stops there, shoots a look at Xander somewhere between alarm and guilt.</p><p>The ranch, Xander thinks. Of course. “My employees?” he says aloud, guessing. There aren’t so very many of them — but there are some, and not all of them have other places to go.</p><p>Camilla purses her lips. “If we leave all of those no protection, do you think they’ll come to harm?” Xander can see the calculus behind her eyes, at least in part because he’s doing it too, because he can feel the weight of the thoughts. If Corrin is where they can see her, where they can put themselves between her and harm, perhaps that <em>would</em> be for the best, rather than leaving her behind.</p><p>They have already lost — <em>misplaced</em> — one sibling simply by not having him where they could see him. Xander will be very surprised if Camilla lets Leo leave the house without her for a few months once they’ve returned.</p><p>Because they <em>are</em> going to return with him.</p><p>“Don’t know,” Ryoma admits finally. “Better than half chances.”</p><p>“<em>Hm</em>,” Camilla says, with more disapproving force, and she looks down at the table of contents she had apparently forgotten she had open. “I know what the logical choice is.”</p><p>They all of them know that logic is not the strongest motivator, when it comes to family; and so it does not need to be said, but hangs in the air between them with its own sort of gravity.</p><p>Xander shapes an idea carefully in his head, lines all the concepts of words up before he even tries to get them out, and fortunately Camilla is absorbed enough in looking for usable information that there’s quiet while he works through. “Perhaps,” Xander says finally, “we should ask Corrin what she prefers.”</p><p>Camilla’s look at him speaks eloquently of how much she doesn’t want to do that. Not, Xander is aware, for not caring for their sister’s wishes; it’s just that Corrin will prefer to be with them, and they would prefer she were somewhere safe, and not the unknown potential-danger of the fae lands. Xander meets her with an equal look, lifts the shoulder Ryoma is not leaning against in a helpless sort of a shrug.</p><p>They cannot change Corrin’s nature. Nor would they wish to. Only perhaps the truth of her birth— but she would not be the same Corrin, otherwise.</p><p>So they are at an impasse. Ryoma leans more heavily, so he can put his head against Xander’s shoulder, a weight full of trust that Xander doesn’t always comprehend.</p><p>Mikoto or Corrin, and as many of the pack as will come with them — at least four — and Camilla, and… “Elise,” Xander says, and rubs at the bridge of his nose. It speaks poorly, that he is so used to her being at boarding school that he had half-assumed she would be in a safe and inaccessible place. “We can’t.”</p><p>“Can’t bring her, or can’t assume she won’t be worthy of attention?” Camilla asks, eyes sharp. Xander manages the same helpless half-shrug again — both, honestly — and Camilla settles not entirely graciously. “It really will have to be Corrin with us, then, won’t it.”</p><p>That’s more than likely. Xander hesitates. Nods reluctantly.</p><p>“I don’t like it,” Camilla says, and she looks to where Brynhildr is set on the table beside her. “Is there no other way?”</p><p>The book does not respond to her, lays all dormant and quiescent, seemingly absent of the life it had before, the life it certainly had in Leo’s hands. Camilla sighs softly, and runs her hand along it. “If you could speak,” she says, then shakes her head.</p><p>Still, Brynhildr does nothing.</p><p>Xander works through steps of planning in his head, slow but sure, while Camilla flits from book to book and Ryoma drapes heavy and disconsolate against him. Four pack members. Ryoma is obvious. He hopes for Hinoka as well — ideally Takumi, if they will bear putting the family in danger, since Mikoto had said wind can be an opener of ways. Absolutely not Sakura, he thinks. Perhaps… no, he doesn’t know the pack well enough to guess who might. That will have to be Ryoma’s responsibility, while he can stay human. “Which wolves?” Xander asks, turning his head slightly so Ryoma will know he is meant.</p><p>Ryoma makes an inquisitive noise with no words in it, and doesn’t stir.</p><p>“To run,” Xander tries, scrambling a little for what the right words are. “To go with us.”</p><p>“Hinoka,” Ryoma says immediately, though does not stir. “Saizo. Kagero. Me.”</p><p>“What about…” Xander hates to ask it, and that makes his throat close up again, and there is some extra time filled with only the rustling of pages while he works steadily toward the question. “Takumi. The— wind. The bow.”</p><p>“Ah,” says Ryoma, and doesn’t immediately manage anything else. That’s fine. Goodness knows Xander feels about the same on the topic of bringing Corrin with them right now.</p><p>So. Wolves. Magical power, possibly? Xander and Camilla and Corrin, but he doesn’t know how they’ll keep up with a wolf pack in full stride—</p><p>“Horses,” Xander says aloud, a note of surprise in his voice even as he says it. “We’ll have to ride.”</p><p>Ryoma winces very noticeably, and hides his face against Xander’s shoulder instead of just leaning. …now that he’s thinking about it, Xander does remember that the reason Ryoma-as-Happy unhorsed him in the first place was the seared-in, well-grounded fear of hunters on horses. “I don’t know how else we’ll keep up,” Xander says.</p><p>“There’s good tradition,” Ryoma says, sounding utterly miserable. “Maybe we can scent-mark them.”</p><p>It won’t be very useful, after all, if the wolves go for the horses instead, Xander translates. Hm. That’s another issue to be looked at. And then what? Is the act of riding enough?</p><p>“What was that about horses?” Elise asks, more or less from the entry to the library. Xander jerks — he hadn’t heard her coming — and nearly dislodges Ryoma, who slides off the chair arm and leans more firmly against Xander in turn.</p><p>“Oh, there you are,” Camilla says, with some surprise. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Sakura brought me,” Elise says. Sure enough, as she comes through the shelves and into visual range, there’s also a leggy red-grey wolf with her, all huge amber eyes and tail tucked close to her legs. Behind them both is Corrin, braid slightly frizzing and still in what looks like pajamas.</p><p>Elise stops to look at all three of them, and her expression veers dangerously close to a pout. “Is something wrong? All of you look <em>really</em> stressed out. I think Sakura’s upset, too, she won’t go human.”</p><p>“She may not be able to, dear,” Camilla says gently, handling the easy query. “Apparently the full moon is tomorrow, and it takes some effort to be human around this time of the month.” She does look a question vaguely in Ryoma’s direction, but Ryoma is in no way paying enough attention to her to answer. Camilla shrugs and turns her gaze back on the girls. “I suppose you do have the right to know what’s happened.”</p><p>“That <em>does</em> sound like something’s wrong,” Corrin says, mouth turned down with worry. “Camilla? What happened?”</p><p>Camilla lays a hand on Brynhildr again. Xander wonders if it gives her strength, whether moral support or something a little more magically substantial. She takes a moment to steady herself, and then plunges ahead. “Leo’s been kidnapped,” she says, starting with the simplest part of things. It’s blunt, unornamented, getting the worst part out of the way for her and the rest all at once. </p><p>Corrin’s eyes go wide; Elise stomps her foot, causing Sakura to skitter away whale-eyed. “—I’m sorry, Sakura,” Elise says immediately, contrite, and then turns a fierce frown toward Camilla. “That’s not <em>fair</em>! We just got all of us back together!”</p><p>“Um,” Corrin says, twisting her fingers together. Her eyes look bright with tears, and she takes a moment to bite her lip before going on. “Can we do something? Was it— normal people, or magic people?” She darts a quick apologetic glance at Ryoma. “I don’t know the right words, but... do we go to the police or...?”</p><p>“I don’t think the police can save people from fairies,” Camilla says, a little regretfully. “This is a magical problem.”</p><p>“If it’s magic, then can we get Leo back ourselves?” Elise puts in, fidgeting on the spot. She’s all pale and worried, and as Xander watches she rubs a hand across her eyes and then focuses again, determined. “We have to be able to do <em>something, </em>right?”</p><p>Both of them have their hopeful-fearful gazes on Camilla now, fretful and eager to offer whatever they have, if only Camilla will give them a direction to go in. Xander can see clearly the weight it is on Camilla, too, and the way she looks to him instinctively, head tilted. Her expression is an eloquent one, if only because it matches what Xander feels in his heart. She doesn’t know how to carry both of them at once, and herself as well.</p><p>That is why one has many siblings, to split the load. Two damaged pillars may hold where one may not. Xander clears his throat very carefully. If he lines up words beforehand, it’s easier to speak — in some ways, he simply has to think of it as being a child again, anxious and uncertain about everything. The regression is frustrating, but at least now he knows what to do with it. </p><p>“We’re working out a way to go after Leo,” Xander says, and gets twin shocked looks for his troubles, before Elise flings herself at him and puts arms around his waist. She runs into Ryoma in the process of doing so, and Ryoma makes a startled sound more like a wolf’s than a human’s, but Elise is content enough to negotiate her way into hugging both of them. Xander is struck by a sudden pang of warm wanting, which he has to put aside and not examine any further at the moment. </p><p>Corrin manages a little smile for Xander, even if her eyes are still worried. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she says. “How can we help?”</p><p>Xander finds certainty in that moment: Corrin will absolutely go with them, if it’s for Leo. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not, to know that Mikoto will be able to look after Elise and everyone else here while they’re gone. The words dry up for a moment.</p><p>“It’s awrrrr,” Ryoma says, picking his head up, and then putting it down on Xander’s shoulder again as fast as he had looked up. There’s a frustrated exhalation, and his weight on Xander becomes a little more pronounced. He tries it again, more muffled this time for not looking up. “It’s about your parentage.”</p><p>Elise lets them go, points at herself; Xander shakes his head, and nods to Corrin. The teenager in question frowns. “What about me?” she wants to know. “I mean— I know, um, Mikoto’s my mother and all that— is there something else?” </p><p>“Apparently,” Camilla says, with a brittle sort of care about how she shapes her words, “your father is of the fae. And that is who Mikoto was running from when she came to the Morimoto pack.”</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” Corrin says, and sits down right where she is on the floor. Elise immediately goes for her, flinging arms around her, and Sakura circles back around to press against Corrin’s back. Her tail is still tucked, but she really does seem to be trying. It’s sweet, Xander thinks. He’s truly relieved that their sisters get along so well. </p><p>He shifts his mental tack to figuring out what needs to be said next, and works out the sentence he wants. “According to Mikoto and Ryoma, that means you should be able to lead us to him.”</p><p>Corrin puts her head down for just a moment, breathing hard, and when she looks up her eyes are red and there are tears on her cheeks. “Why isn’t my mother telling me this <em>herself</em>?” she demands. “Why is this— why is it happening at all?”</p><p>“Mother can’t,” Ryoma says. His words still come out sounding a little wrong, but at least they’re coming out. “She’s bound quiet. Hurts or kills if she says.”</p><p>“...oh,” Corrin says miserably. “What about my, my father? Why is he— like this? Why is he <em>doing</em> this?”</p><p>All the books in the library have no answer. Camilla pushes her chair back and comes to add herself to the little knot of hugging sisters. Sakura politely gives her space. “Xander,” Camilla says, glancing up. “Why don’t you and Ryoma go and secure the pack members who will be coming? We can reconvene here when you’ve confirmed.”</p><p>That seems reasonable to Xander. The only reason he isn’t going and hugging them as well is that he genuinely thinks Ryoma might fall over if not held right now. He nods to Camilla, slow and pointed so the motion doesn’t get lost, and puts his arm around Ryoma’s waist and tugs him away.</p><p>For just a moment, Xander thinks Brynhildr is shining, shining like sunlight filtering through a forest’s leaves; but then he blinks, and the idea of it is gone. </p><p>Outside the library, he pauses to check in on Ryoma — Ryoma’s ears have gone entirely wolf, Xander discovers, and his jaw shape is all wrong for a human. His eyes aren’t quite the right color, either, but there is still a certain clarity to his gaze on Xander. “All right?” Xander asks, standing close, hesitating over caresses. Would it be rude, to explore the changed shapes?</p><p>Ryoma cocks his head to the side — the soft triangle of one ear flickers back and forth — and he shrugs before nodding. Xander takes his own time to figure out precisely what that means — his best guess would be that Ryoma isn’t entirely sure on the larger scale, but is well enough to be getting on with for now. All right. That’s something, even if perhaps not very much. Xander does slide his hand into Ryoma’s hair then, discovering the way the shape of his head has shifted, and his ears in particular. There’s a spot just behind...</p><p>As Xander kneads gently with his fingertips, entranced, Ryoma’s ear flickers, droops slightly after a moment and then he sighs. It’s a contented sound, at odds with the general atmosphere of the day. Emboldened, Xander keeps on; and he can’t have been at it more than a minute or two when Ryoma simply leans into him again, heavy and almost boneless. </p><p>It’s clearly enjoyable for him. On the whole, though, Xander doesn’t know if he’s helping with Ryoma’s attempts to stay human. Certainly Ryoma’s arms have come around his waist, and it’s somewhat harder for a wolf to do such things, but not impossible. It’s no guarantee, and Ryoma hasn’t said anything to indicate he’s retained a human-shaped mouth. </p><p>And they have something of a deadline. </p><p>Xander turns his head, manages to just brush his mouth against Ryoma’s temple. “We need to go and speak to your pack,” he says. “Will you be all right for a little longer?”</p><p>For several long moments Ryoma doesn’t move at all, only continues to lean on Xander, and Xander half begins to anticipate that some firmer action must be taken; but then Ryoma straightens up of his own accord. His eyes look very human, and very tired, but he manages something like a smile for Xander. “Mmhm.”</p><p>It is enough to be getting on with. Xander holds out his hand for Ryoma’s and is given it, and they go in search of the rest of the pack.</p>
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<a name="section0050"><h2>50. run fast for your mother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It winds up being Xander that does a lot of the talking, and half the people they talk to have already settled into wolf form. Saizo is more grumpy than usual, the fur across his hackles bristling, and Ryoma has to keep drawing his attention from Xander — a complicated thing when Ryoma doesn’t quite have human vocal cords at the moment. It winds up being Ryoma hunkered down to the floor, asking with his eyes, and Xander explaining the principles of the thing as well as making a halting effort at translating Ryoma’s gestures. </p><p>Eventually Saizo gets up, and shows Xander his tail, and tilts his head at Ryoma in inquiry. Ryoma nods. This is him asking. And so, accordingly, in a few moments Saizo dips his head as well, in assent. He’ll run with the pack.</p><p>Kagero is simpler, as she’s still human-shaped. She fixes dark eyes on each of them in turn, and waits patiently through Xander’s explaining. He’s used almost exactly the same words as last time, Ryoma notes distantly. It sounds like words are still hard. What a pair they make, still; when Ryoma just can’t manage to stay fully human enough to use his, and Xander’s still fumbling to find where his are.</p><p>Like Saizo, though, Kagero looks to Ryoma, waiting for his nod before herself assenting. Ryoma’s sure Xander’s noticed it, but he doesn’t say anything on the topic, only reclaims Ryoma’s hand and frowns distantly while trying to think who else should be queried. “Ah,” Xander says finally. “Hinoka?”</p><p>Hinoka. Ryoma nods, and closes his eyes to breathe in the air and try to pick her scent apart from others. He can guess, of course — he knows her well — but this will be more efficient if he has acuity enough to find her. He thinks — ah, maybe outside? </p><p>He thinks, and tries not to think, about Takumi as they go. If it’s a question of magical power, surely the Fujin-bowstring would be useful. And Mother had said that wind is an opener of ways, and surely they could do worse than to have the wind and the storm along with them.</p><p>But this is Takumi. He’s Ryoma’s brother, and he’s young yet. Ryoma cannot help but worry, and so he rather hopes he will only have Hinoka with them. Four will be enough, Mother said. Ryoma doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s <em>asked</em> to bring Takumi with them, but that, he thinks, is an issue to deal with when they get there. </p><p>He leads Xander outside, as if to the greenhouse, and there’s a scent like fresh-cut wood, the green-raw scent laced with the faint burning of a fast cut. Even Xander smells it, judging by the tilt of his head in turn, and the way he moves without Ryoma having to lead him initially. Ryoma follows the scent around — not the greenhouse, but the shed and covered area behind the house, where various of them have done woodworking in the past; and there’s Hinoka, sitting on the ground with her legs folded.</p><p>There’s Takumi as well, working with vise and wood and saw. Or sort-of working, as right now what he’s doing is holding a long, slightly curved shaft of wood, and gesticulating wildly with it. “I don’t know how you expect me to do anything with this without cutting it,” he’s saying, a little too loudly, and the flash of raw-blue at his wrist is a breath of fresh air that wakes the breeze.</p><p>“Don’t look at me, I’m not an archer,” Hinoka says. Her head moves with the gestures, tracking the stick. “Or a... bowmaker. Whatever. I just think, if you cut it apart and glue it back together, how’s it supposed to survive you drawing it?”</p><p>“Archery classes these days don’t tell you how to <em>make</em> bows,” Takumi snaps, and tosses the stick out of the covered area. Ryoma sees Hinoka’s muscles tense as if she means to chase after it before catching herself and settling again. “I’d like to see you do it.”</p><p>“It’s a <em>magic</em> bowstring,” says Hinoka, sounding like her patience is eroding with every further exchange on this topic. “Give it a half-decent stick, <em>not</em> one that you’ve hacked apart, and it’ll probably be fine.”</p><p>“<em>Why—</em>" Takumi starts, and then catches sight of Ryoma and Xander. Motion and speech are all arrested in one sweep of a moment. “Oh. It’s you.”</p><p>Ryoma suspects, with some resignation, that the tone in Takumi’s voice is for Xander. Mercifully, Xander doesn’t seem too very put off. “May we have a moment?” he inquires, mostly focused on Hinoka.</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” says Hinoka, at the same time Takumi grumbles, “We’re <em>busy</em>.” The two of them look at each other; Xander checks back over his shoulder with Ryoma, and Ryoma rolls his eyes as expressively as he knows how.</p><p>Siblings. They’re a delight. Ryoma wouldn’t trade them for anything. He points at Hinoka, indicating that Xander should pay attention to what she says on the topic, and not Takumi. Xander nods, understanding, and turns back to them. </p><p>Hinoka, at least, has a sense of how to read a room some of the time, such that by the time Xander is looking for how to start, she’s already gone cooler, more focused. Her ears would be pricked forward if she had them. —had <em>wolf </em>ears, Ryoma reminds himself gently. Shapes are difficult. “Is something wrong?” Hinoka wants to know. </p><p>The news hasn’t traveled fast. Understandably. No one wants to repeat it, and the guilt from making Xander go over this over and over again almost makes Ryoma’s shift recede. Not quite far enough, but he pushes at it, slow and methodical, reminding himself of all the reasons to be human aside from handholding.</p><p>“You could say that,” Xander says carefully, one halting word at a time. “Leo is— missing. Kidnapped.” </p><p>Something in Takumi’s hands snaps. Hinoka rumbles something low and unhappy and decidedly not human. “Let me explain what we know,” Xander says, and takes them through what they’ve figured out, between Mikoto and Ryoma, and the loose skeleton of a plan that they have. He fumbles only when he has to say thing that he hasn’t already put in place, Ryoma notes — there’s probably some way he can help with this if the problem persists, but for now all he can do is let Xander work at his pace, and offer moral support. Such as it is.</p><p>“I’m in,” Hinoka says, immediately when Xander has worked his way around to what he’s asking. “That’s me and Ryoma, and you said Saizo and Kagero, right? So that’s enough. We’ll have to figure out a way to separate from the rest of the pack, or keep them indoors.”</p><p>“Mother can help with that,” Takumi says absently. “We have a basement for a reason. Anyway, I’m coming with you, too.”</p><p>“You don’t even like Leo,” Hinoka says, rounding on him with apparently every intent of jamming reason into his face until he sees it. Ryoma appreciates her efforts, but he’s not sure how well that’ll work. </p><p>“Neither do you!” Takumi folds his arms. His ponytail stirs with a wind that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “It’s not about that, anyway. It’s this asshole after Mother. The same one she was running from when she met Father, right?”</p><p>That’s right. Ryoma nods. </p><p>Takumi unfolds himself only enough to gesture to Ryoma in acceptance before he crosses his arms again, shoulders up. “And I’m the one with the fancy wind magic now. That can only help. <em>So</em>, I’m coming with you.”</p><p>“We have to keep <em>some</em> of us safe,” Hinoka says. “It’d kill Mother if we all did something stupid like— like get stuck in the fae lands forever, or something.” She has steered clear of other fates, though now Ryoma’s thinking about them. He wonders how much of a threat Corrin’s father truly is. And what he wants. </p><p>Mother left her entire life to get away from him, and has been in hiding for fifteen years. That says something. Mother is not, in the time Ryoma has known her, the sort of woman to jump at shadows; and even if she were, it would take more than one or two shadows to run so far. </p><p>“That’s why Sakura stays here,” Takumi says. He’s starting to sound more and more reasonable, which is how Ryoma knows they’re really in trouble. “We’ll have three super magical artifacts and a lot of anger to work out, I think we’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Three?” Hinoka says.</p><p>Takumi points in turn. “Fujin’s bowstring, Raijinto, Siegfried. Right? I mean—" He looks very suddenly abashed. “What happened to Brynhildr?”</p><p>Xander’s silent for a moment; watching his face, Ryoma can see his lips moving. “It’s still here,” Xander says finally. “It won’t let me hold it, and it tolerates Camilla.”</p><p>“I bet it would be a good idea if we could get it to tolerate Camilla long enough to come with,” Takumi says. “Where’s she now?”</p><p>“Bow first,” Hinoka says sternly. </p><p>Takumi eyerolls at her now. “I’m not running with the pack holding a giant stick,” he says. “The string will have to be enough.”</p><p>“Just hold it in your mouth,” Hinoka starts in.</p><p>Ryoma senses that further arguments are impending, but he appreciates — how very human the two of them are; how well balanced they are, compared to everything else happening right now; how earnest and ready to help his entire family is, when it comes down to it. He nudges Xander in the side.</p><p>Xander nods. “Camilla and Corrin are in the library,” he says. “We will be back.”</p><p>“Take care,” Hinoka says, frowning thunderously at both of them. “Ryoma, don’t be a dumbass.”</p><p>He loves her too. Ryoma stretches out far enough that he can rumple up her hair while still holding Xander’s hand; and, miracle of miracles, Hinoka lets him. </p><p>They leave Hinoka and Takumi to their argument, which is to Ryoma’s ears mostly for the joy of argument, and a reassurance for its utter normalcy. Before they would go back into the house, however, Xander pauses, looking up at the sky. “Horses,” he says thoughtfully. “We will need them tomorrow, early in the day. There is no place for them here, is there?”</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head. The pack house has never needed to accommodate horses, and is in no way ready for it. Especially not in the winter — he understands horses can scale to the sensitive side. </p><p>“Perhaps if we went tonight,” Xander says. “And come back with them in the morning?”</p><p>Ryoma thinks it over. He could probably be eased into it, if they start now, and he knows Xander well enough he probably won’t bolt from or lunge at a horse with Xander on it now. And Xander is right; they need a way for the human-shaped to keep up with the wolves, and horses are going to be the best bet. He nods to Xander, tries to say something about how it’s a good idea and doesn’t quite manage. Ryoma closes his mouth, feeling sheepish, and Xander just turns and smiles at him.</p><p>His smile does have the sun in it, doesn’t it. Impulsively Ryoma leans in to kiss him, very lightly, just enough to taste the sunlight, and Xander strokes his hair for a moment. Whatever the state of the thing between them, it’s doing well enough to hold them both up, Ryoma thinks, and for that, too, he is grateful.</p><p>Eventually, reluctantly, Ryoma tugs them back inside to tell someone where they’re going— one mysterious absence in twenty-four hours is more than enough, and he’s well aware they’ll cause some not insignificant level of panic if they simply vanish. Thinking about that chain of events almost has Ryoma growling again, hackles up at the whole mess of things before them, and only Xander’s hands and scent reminding him that he is best off staying human-shape and as rational as possible for a little while longer.</p><p>It is all more difficult than it should be. </p><p>They detour to talk to Mother, who gives her worried blessing to the fraction of plan they have. “I would assist in the library,” she says, gaze directed that way even though it’s several rooms distant, “but I would prefer not to cause further conflict...” </p><p>Corrin is there, and Camilla, with her protective instincts strong and sharp. Ryoma can understand Mother’s reluctance, but all the same, he thinks if they have the same goal, it is worth surmounting the conflict, with Mother the best resource they have on the fae lands even if she can’t say all that much. She manages with half-thoughts and implications, and Camilla and Elise are both sharp enough. </p><p>Insistently, Ryoma reaches out for her, intending to tug her along as well. Mother tilts her head at him, staring fit to see through him, and finally a wry smile touches her mouth. “Very well,” she says. “Perhaps fleeing is not the solution in this case.”</p><p>Good. She doesn’t take his hand, but she goes with them down to the library. </p><p>Camilla doesn’t look best pleased, but Corrin waves a worried-cheerful greeting, her mix of emotions very like Mother’s in that moment. Ryoma doesn’t immediately see Elise, and it takes some looking to find her — sitting under the central table with Sakura, the two nestled up against each other and the wolf earnestly concentrating on the book Elise is holding so she can see it. It’s terribly cute. Ryoma’s relieved beyond measure that this thing, at least, has gone harmoniously, and when Xander makes a quizzical face at him, Ryoma just points.</p><p>Xander ducks to see, and quizzical dissolves into something much more fond in a matter of moments. Ryoma treasures the warm way Xander looks at their sisters, tucks it away next to his heart and holds on to it for the future. </p><p>That makes most of the logistics taken care of, assuming Takumi and Hinoka resolve their quibble about bows and what is and is not appropriate material for a magical bowstring to grace with its presence. Ryoma trusts their sense of urgency to sort it out before... well, before <em>both </em>of them are forced into wolf form for the full moon, at least, which is enough. </p><p>It means, now that Mother’s been dropped off with the magical research team, that Ryoma and Xander are free to take their time heading up to the ranch and looking into the matter of the horses. Ryoma hasn’t once let go of Xander’s hand, and he’s not inclined to; and fortunately, Xander also seems quite content with the arrangement. He’s the one who directs them down stairs and out of the house, not taking the path any faster than necessary, and every so often squeezing Ryoma’s hand or tapping fingertips where they set, little pieces of contact that remind and steady.</p><p>Ryoma appreciates and savors each and every one.</p><p>Eventually he’s forced to let go of Xander’s hand to get into the car, but it’s well enough. They’re close to each other still like this, and Ryoma can reach out and touch if he needs to. Xander drives, even though it’s Ryoma’s car — Ryoma’s well aware that he shouldn’t be driving right now. Definitely not until after the full moon.</p><p>“We can leave the car there,” Xander says quietly, as they go, one assembled word at a time. “And take the horses back through the trails and woods tomorrow?”</p><p>That seems like it might be reasonable, except that Ryoma doesn’t know how to ride, and Xander will have to negotiate safely directing four horses while being one person. Ryoma doesn’t answer at first — can’t answer at first — and though the car ride is soothing enough, just the road and the safe span of Mother’s wards over them and Xander’s scent, overwhelming now in an anchoring way, Ryoma can’t quite make himself be all one form or another. Words remain out of the question.</p><p>He drops his head to rest against the window and sighs pointedly, watches Xander instead. Xander drives with a certain sort of focus, clear eyes fixed ahead and only once or twice darting sideways to check on Ryoma. There isn’t much light on these back roads, and Ryoma’s eyes adjust easily to the dark with only the faint glow of dashboard lights to show him Xander’s features in suggestions of shape and shadow. </p><p>Ryoma could watch him for a very long time, he realizes. Just to be near him is a sort of contentment. But is it love, then, or is it a man adrift on the ocean finding a raft? </p><p>He doesn’t know yet. Not for sure. Leo, and the issue of Corrin’s father, has to come first. </p><p>At the ranch there are lights in the barn still, though the horses aren’t out. Xander parks and secures the car, and Ryoma trails his sure footsteps across the paths and pastures, inside where they startle one of the hands. Ryoma lingers toward the door while Xander speaks to his employee, still with the same slow-careful cadence that seems to help make his words obey, and looks around the barn. There’s rows of stalls, maybe half of which are occupied, and he can hear all throughout the shift and snort and stamp of various horses. The scent of horse is thick in the air, nearly overwhelming Xander’s when he’s at this distance. Ryoma can tolerate it, but he’s not over-fond of it, and he keeps trying to put his ears back even though he lacks the muscles for it right now. </p><p> Eventually Xander looks back toward him, and though his eyes are tired he summons a smile for Ryoma, and Ryoma comes toward him as the ranch-hand moves off. “Sorting tack for the morning,” Xander says by way of explanation. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to Ryoma, so he just snags Xander’s hand again and, daring, leans in to rest his head against Xander’s shoulder.</p><p>It would be so much <em>easier</em> to be a wolf, but then he’d probably have to bolt, the way the scents in the barn are. Ryoma breathes sunlight and rich earth instead, just as he is.</p><p>Comfortably, Xander folds an arm around Ryoma’s waist, settling at the small of his back. Ryoma tracks the heat of him even as he listens to the hesitating rumble of Xander’s voice. “Many of the horses here are... boarders, or rescues,” Xander says. He leans his head against Ryoma’s with a sort of care that makes sure they don’t collide too heavily. “That is, not mine, or skittish. But I think there are enough calm for four.”</p><p>Skittish horses with a wolf pack likely in turn to be skittish of the horses doesn’t sound good at all, and Ryoma’s beyond pleased that Xander’s taken that into account. He heaves a contented sigh, distinctly flavored with wolf. What’s stopping him from shifting again...?</p><p>Oh. Right. Xander’s warm lips against his temple. That’s less savorable as a wolf, though layers of fur. Ryoma focuses on the bipedal shape for certain again. </p><p>“Do you want to meet them?” Xander asks. </p><p>Ryoma thinks about that, too. It feels sensible, getting the scent of them early. He suspects, among his siblings, that Hinoka and Takumi will be more likely to spook if Ryoma does; and so, on the whole, if any of them should be braced for the horses, it’s certainly Ryoma. But he also doesn’t really want to un-lean right now. </p><p>“Mmmnh,” Ryoma manages finally, which is not precisely words, but conveys a tone, and he holds up one finger to illustrate that he needs a moment. </p><p>Xander gives him this moment, and several more as Ryoma takes them, breathing steady and easy in this little solitude as if there’s nothing else in the world. It can’t last. Ryoma knows that. Still: the now can be appreciated.</p><p>It’s several minutes later that he finally stirs, picks up his head and nods. “All right,” Xander says in response, and they unwind very carefully, reducing the embrace to just the clasp of hands again. Like that, Xander takes Ryoma around the barn, stopping here and there. There’s a pretty black horse Xander identifies as his, with the barest of white marks on her forehead. Her stall is marked with an engraved plaque which says <em>Brocade</em>. Ryoma has to assume that’s her name. Other stalls have slide-in panels for names, but this one’s seems fairly permanent. </p><p>Ryoma stares at her for a long time before it occurs to him that this could be construed as a threat, and he turns his eyes slightly aside, looking at her sidelong. She seems to have much more regard for Xander, as is right and proper, shoving her head over the gate at him. Xander offers her the attentions of his free hand, and Ryoma inhales carefully.</p><p>Horse. A lot of horse. This one mingles well enough with Xander’s sunlit forest scent, and Ryoma concedes that he might be able to pick her out of a crowd of other horses. Might. He wouldn’t care to try just for fun, but if push came to shove.</p><p>Xander takes Ryoma to see three other horses. They sort of blend together; Ryoma certainly doesn’t remember any of their names, although he’s reasonably sure one was a dappled gray. His color vision is starting to downshift to something with a little less dimension, though at least he can see into the dark corners of the barn. If any of them decide to <em>like</em> horses, they can probably help with any pest control issues Xander might be having. Hinoka especially delights in chasing the small and fleet-of-foot things that think they can outrun a wolf.</p><p>—Xander’s saying something. Ryoma takes longer than usual to pull himself out of the contemplation of the hunt, of running wild and the quick hot blood of tasty things on fast legs. “—to the house,” Xander is saying. “Ryoma?”</p><p>Ryoma has absolutely no idea what he said before that, but he can <em>guess</em> Xander is talking about going back to the long low house higher up the hill, where he had scraped paint off the outside doors and made himself at home in Xander’s room, in Xander’s bed. That makes sense. He doesn’t know precisely how late it is, but it’s certainly dark, and they’ll have to make a start with the sun, if not before. How much longer does he have to stay human...? It’s so <em>clumsy</em>. </p><p>Wait, Xander had asked a question. Ryoma makes a sound he hopes is agreeable and not too rumbly, and nods his head. </p><p>“All right,” Xander says, careful enunciation splitting the words, and he squeezes Ryoma’s hand again. Like this, hand in hand, they go out into the night, and Xander leads them up to where the little house is. </p><p>The night air carries a crisp briskness, carries scents sharp in the cold. Ryoma turns his head this way and that, inhaling thoughtfully. Horse, and humans, and more distant things like bold deer and scurrying rodents. Not close enough to merit shifting to grab right now, which is perhaps his saving grace. There’s a calculus he should probably be doing, about how full the meat freezers are and whether or not it would benefit to send a few wolves to come and pick off an errant deer, but he can’t muster that level of logistical complication right now.</p><p>He follows Xander. </p><p>Xander does some fumbling with locks and keys, first to let them into the building and then into his room. Ryoma can smell that there’s another person in the building, probably in one of the other dormlike rooms, but he doesn’t see hide nor hair of him, which is fine. Xander steers Ryoma to sit on his bed and gently disentangles their fingers. </p><p>Ryoma regrets the loss of the touch, but it probably makes sense. He watches, less and less attached to a human shape, as Xander moves around, turning on the heater, emptying his pockets onto his desk and plugging in what needs to be plugged in. There’s one last check that everything’s in order, apparently just for good measure; then Xander shrugs lightly, mostly to himself, and moves back toward Ryoma. “This should be fine,” he says, and pulls his shoes off to put aside. </p><p>Just outside of arm’s reach Xander hesitates unexpectedly. Ryoma doesn’t understand why, so he straightens up and holds out his own paws— wait, no, those are hands. He still has those. Is that why? How caught between <em>is</em> he? His body doesn’t feel entirely harmonious.</p><p>But Xander moves again, this time to stand between Ryoma’s knees, put himself in the open arc of Ryoma’s reach. Relief. Ryoma lets his breath out and simply leans, arms around Xander’s hips, head against his stomach. That’s better. Even better than that is when Xander settles a light touch in his hair, eventually stroking, sorting out what few disagreeable tangles have accrued. “You’re having a hard time staying like this, aren’t you,” Xander says. Ryoma appreciates how slow his cadence is, honestly. Even if it’s fighting himself, and not solely efforts for Ryoma’s benefit, it helps. </p><p>Gingerly, Ryoma nods. Xander cups the back of his head for a moment — lifts the mane of his hair instead to curl a soft grip over the nape of his neck, knead gently there. “It’s all right,” Xander says then. “To change. If you need. Just— stay with me. Until it’s time to go.”</p><p>The thought of letting go of all the tension, of relaxing into wolf shape and simply <em>being</em> sounds divine. Ryoma holds himself off all the same. He isn’t sure if he can guarantee...</p><p>Oh, but he’s sought Xander out every time he had the chance as a wolf, hasn’t he? Even now, Ryoma can’t think why he’d want to <em>leave</em>. Outside, certainly, there is the joy of life and running, and he could find his way back to his siblings and celebrate the moon and the brightness of being with them, but: here there is Xander, and he, too, is a sort of a home. </p><p>And it isn’t as if he can manage speech <em>anyway</em> right now. Ryoma stops holding on to the human form, remembers belatedly as his bones are reconfiguring that he probably needs to open his arms to let go of Xander— ah, but Xander isn’t letting go of <em>him</em>. </p><p>Ryoma thinks he appreciates that, the continued gentle stroking even as he becomes a different shape entirely. </p><p>He <em>does</em> slide off the bed, landing heavily on Xander’s feet, but with a little scrabbling he gets his back paws under him and lets his front legs down gently from where he’s had them wrapped around Xander. Thoughtfully he presses his head against Xander’s hip, and Xander obliges by finding the nice spot right behind his ears. Ryoma’s tail— ow. He’s <em>trying</em> to wave it happily, but he’s a little stuck in matters of cloth. Ryoma whines, turns around to bite at the cloth. </p><p>Xander laughs very, very quietly, and crouches down to help. “Hold on,” he says. “This isn’t— how I had imagined, I will admit.”</p><p>Ryoma thinks about the concept of Xander undressing him and he’s pretty sure he likes it in general, even if mostly right now it’s because it means he can thump his tail happily. Xander drags clothing off his paws and Ryoma’s tail starts up a cheerful rhythm somewhere between bed and floor, and he doesn’t even notice the faint sting. He’s no longer restrained by human clothing and he has his favorite person here, and even if there’s probably something he should remember about the whole situation, something nagging in the part of his mind a little more tied to humanity, for now this is <em>just fine</em>.</p><p>Xander gets up to put Ryoma’s clothes somewhere. Ryoma whines pitifully, dramatically, and rolls over, flails his paws skyward in a bid for attention. Over by the desk in the corner, Xander laughs very quietly, and Ryoma cranes his neck to see if the whining is having any useful effect. </p><p>As Ryoma watches, Xander drapes the clothes over the back of the chair, and himself reaches up under his hair, fussing with something. Ryoma remembers the earring belatedly, as Xander starts to glow and his scent deepens, all full rich earth and the scents the sunlight raises from the soil with its warmth. Then Xander comes back toward him, and Ryoma realizes he’s frozen with one paw straight up and the others relaxed. Oh, well. He waves his tail across the floor for emphasis of jubilation.</p><p>Xander sits down beside him on the floor, reaches hesitantly for his chest. Ryoma encourages this, wagging with some more hopefulness, and is rewarded for it with Xander’s hand deep in the fur of his ruff, rubbing firmly. Ryoma heaves a deep and happy sigh, and tunes out of the current situation with the exception of Xander’s touch, Xander’s scent. He’s <em>definitely</em> forgetting something, but for now he’s making the very wolfy choice that it doesn’t matter.</p><p>They stay like that a while, Ryoma thinks. He honestly isn’t so good at tracking time like this, because most of the time the only thing that <em>does</em> matter about it is the moon, and how soon his shape will change again. But there’s a point at which Xander gets up, and says, with some hesitant sternness, “I am not sleeping on the floor, sir wolf.” </p><p>That’s Ryoma. He likes the name. But not sleeping on the floor means Xander’s not touching him any more, so Ryoma whines about it. </p><p>“Bed,” Xander says, on firmer ground now, and himself turns the light out before climbing into it. Ryoma’s eyes adjust quickly, from the overhead brightness to the more relaxed golden glow that’s Xander, and he rolls to his feet and shakes his fur out. Sigh. <em>Sigh</em>. </p><p>But Xander pats the bed beside him, and Ryoma can in fact be consoled by different cuddles, so he hops up beside him and crams his shape into all the available empty spaces, until Xander is squeezed against the wall and laughing with it, one arm over Ryoma’s back. “Good night, Ryoma,” he says, more fondly. “Please stay close tomorrow.”</p><p>Ryoma can manage staying close to Xander. It is the least of the things which has been asked of him. He closes his eyes and puts his head down, and trusts in Xander to handle what needs handling. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a few chapter titles purloined from <i>Dog Days Are Over</i>, by Florence + the Machine</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0051"><h2>51. for your sisters and your brothers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A wolf makes a good bedmate, if he is not overly invested in reacting to every sound in the night. Fortunately, Ryoma isn’t; he only stirs occasionally, and wakes Xander all of once. By his own light Xander can see Ryoma’s ears pricked firmly toward the door, eyes luminous and reflecting. </p><p>It’s probably only Laslow, Xander realizes when he puts together where they are with the hour that’s either very late or very early. He pats Ryoma’s shoulder and manages some words to that effect, mangled by sleepiness and something cousin to a stutter, but at least the words get out. Ryoma turns his head to look at Xander — licks his nose once with a slow and thoughtful swipe of his tongue — and then puts his head down again. Xander presses his face into the fur at Ryoma’s shoulder and does his best to go back to sleep.</p><p>This time of year, the alarm set for 7 has them up before the sun’s risen, though there’s at least a cool blue light in the sky to give some hint that it might be morning sometime in the not so distant future. Xander has to shove at Ryoma when his phone goes off — Ryoma’s ears flicker at the sound, but unlike the movement of people or animals, apparently electronic chiming isn’t so urgent a thing that Ryoma <em>wants</em> to be up. </p><p>Xander sympathizes, but — Leo. Even just like this, he feels the nagging of guilt that he’s had a relatively nice evening while Leo is presumably trapped in fae lands, and may be in pain even as Xander tries to heave a very affectionate wolf out of bed. Xander reminds himself sternly that there is no point to recrimination, that they are acting as fast as they can, that once the moon rises, if all works as planned, the pack and his family will be off to solve the problem, reclaim Leo and ensure, perhaps, that there will never be another threat of this nature—</p><p>If all works as planned.</p><p>Ryoma, perhaps sensing that Xander’s throat has closed up, now sits up straight to lick Xander’s face, ears pricked attentively forward. Xander has not the willpower to shove him off immediately, and so for several moments he just sits there as Ryoma washes his face with the agile, determined motions of a wolf’s tongue. </p><p>It’s a very soft tongue.</p><p>The alarm reaches its second set of chimes and Xander jumps, and this time does push Ryoma away in earnest to go and tend to it. “We need to,” he says, pauses, finds the words, lines them up. “Take the horses back through the woods.” </p><p>Ryoma looks at Xander as if he’s hanging on his every word, but it’s hard to tell exactly how much understanding is going on behind his eyes at the moment. In any case he does ooze off the bed to a neat standing position, and shakes his fur into place with a brief brisk torpedoing. When he’s got that settled he comes to press himself against Xander’s legs, a heavy weight warm against his thighs and hips, and makes it very hard indeed for Xander to get anything done.</p><p>Xander digs his fingers into the fur behind Ryoma’s ears for several long moments before he resolutely urges them both onward.</p><p>As Xander goes about what needs to be done, Ryoma trails him, often leaning against him heavily or appearing right where Xander is turning toward just in time to nearly trip him up, and on the whole making something of a nuisance of himself. Xander bites his tongue on a curse the third time Ryoma body-blocks him, and gives the wolf a firm stern look; evidently enough human consciousness is present for Ryoma to recognize the look and put his ears down sheepishly. </p><p>And this just in the pursuit of morning ablutions and getting dressed.</p><p>Xander sighs at Ryoma, resigned, and shapes word by careful word. “Please be more careful,” he says, gently firm, and goes to get his coat. He keeps finding himself wishing he could ask — are there talismans he should carry, is there folklore he should know — but right now his company is that of the wolf. </p><p>Ryoma follows when Xander heads out of the little house and down to the barn, where Laslow is tacking up one of the mares Xander had indicated to him last night. It doesn’t occur to Xander that a large wolf behind him might be something out of the ordinary until Laslow’s bid him a cheery good morning and done a startled double-take at Ryoma. </p><p>He really has gotten used to werewolves very easily, hasn’t he. “It’s all right,” Xander says, “he’s friendly.” That, and a dubious sniffing of and subsequent sneezing on Laslow’s extended hand, is enough for Laslow to jump to the conclusion of a part-wolf dog all on his own, and thus Ryoma can loiter around the barn in relative peace as they work with the horses.</p><p>Ryoma is, as predicted, not very fond of the horses. He keeps his distance from them, and shoving his nose in a stack of blankets or near the hanging tack makes him sneeze fiercely. But there’s no outright hostility, only ears lower than the normal attentive height. Xander thinks that Ryoma might be taking cues about how nervous to be from Xander himself — it wouldn’t be completely out of the question, when the horses do much the same about the strange carnivore in their midst. </p><p>Laslow leaves Brocade to Xander, and after one last offer of help with wherever Xander’s going — Xander politely declines, for although he’d appreciate it he genuinely can’t fathom bringing someone else into the whole half-unreal thing — Laslow departs, leaving Xander with a wolf-shaped werewolf and four saddled horses who are as even-tempered about the whole situation as horses may be. It feels like the beginnings of a bad joke. It feels...</p><p>It feels like there is something <em>happening</em>, a tension hanging in the air as the sun climbs higher in the sky, and the advent of moonrise ticks closer. </p><p>Xander leads the horses out in a careful chain. Ryoma circles them with a broad and careful berth, inhaling deeply, sometimes with his nose to the sky and sometimes to the earth. When he approaches more closely, he keeps Xander between him and Brocade. The horse curves her neck around with some interest; the wolf puts his ears back. </p><p>“That’s enough,” Xander says firmly, and with eyes on Ryoma all the while, he mounts up into Brocade’s saddle. She shifts under him, perhaps with some nerves.</p><p>Justified, for as soon as Xander’s settled in, Ryoma hunkers down with ears pinned so close against his skull they’re almost invisible, and the whites of his eyes showing. Aha, Xander thinks, it isn’t the horse necessarily, but the conjunction of man and horse—</p><p>He swings down off Brocade and goes, carefully and slowly, to offer Ryoma his hand. Ryoma sniffs — sneezes — sniffs again, ears slowly coming up, and Xander spends a few moments murmuring reassurances. He stumbles over every other word, winds up with nonsense syllables and stuttering, but neither horses nor wolf judge him for it, which emboldens him. </p><p>Xander tries to mount again. Ryoma stares at him wide-eyed, tail tucked close. Xander dismounts. </p><p>They proceed like this some several times, over and over, Brocade endlessly patient although ultimately confused by the whole song and dance. It must be at least an hour later that the whole concept seems to click for Ryoma, somewhere between the shift back and forth between man and horse, somewhere in Xander’s continuing mess of syllables and hope. He still eyes Brocade warily, but he sidles closer, and his ears flicker with observation rather than going flat back. Xander breathes a sigh of relief; for, after all, if they hope to use the full moon, they are rather on a timetable.</p><p>“Can you stay with me?” he asks, still on Brocade’s back. It would be poor form if he were to return to the Morimotos with Ryoma lost in the woods, or running wild long before the appointed time. Not to mention he is rather relying on Ryoma to lead things— though it did seem as though Hinoka and Takumi were in better straits regarding balance and the capability to stick to one form. Hinoka would not be bad at it, Xander thinks.</p><p>But he would far rather have Ryoma by his side.</p><p>As if in answer to the question, Ryoma circles wide around the horses and comes to sit nearby — well past kicking range, Xander notes with some mild amusement, but still in range if he happened to have a projectile weapon—</p><p>No. Xander turns his thoughts away, and tries to appreciate the trust for what it is.</p><p>He collects the long lead reins for the other horses, careful of tangling. They’ve got some training for trail rides, and are at least somewhat accustomed to following each other — it’ll help. Xander clicks his tongue to beckon them, tugs very lightly as he moves Brocade, and gives the other three some chance to figure out an order. They do fall in line, and Xander adjusts leads accordingly.</p><p>In an ideal world, he’d have at least one other person helping with this, and wouldn’t be managing four horses on a ride through the woods by himself. Then again, in an ideal world Leo wouldn’t have been kidnapped by the fae. </p><p>Xander will manage.</p><p>“All right,” he says to Ryoma, who has watched the whole affair with intent ears and an absolute refusal to stray from his position. “Can you follow?”</p><p>The way the wolf looks at him implies a deep dubiousness about the whole situation. Xander has the distinct feeling that he should feel fortunate Ryoma is so fond of him — he doesn’t think this would work otherwise, not with a wolf already wary of horses and men on horseback in particular. </p><p>But: Ryoma gets to his feet and shakes himself out, his tail the last thing to stop moving; and when he has settled himself, the wolf moves alongside. Still at a distance, still at a restrained pace, but he is with Xander, and that’s the part that matters most. </p><p>The ride is paradoxically smoother once they’re out into the woods proper. Xander had been expecting more issues with the horses — they know the trail, but taking them off it is a move that might have provided some cause for concern. But they follow Brocade, accustomed to the line and the leader, and Ryoma ranges along beside them. There are times when Xander doesn’t see him, when the wolf seems to vanish into brush and earth, but he returns again and again, staying within sight range, occasionally daring closer. The reminder of the way Xander first met this side of Ryoma lingers, turns his mouth up at the corners. </p><p>Mercifully, Ryoma doesn’t feel the need to unhorse him this time.</p><p>Xander had half expected to have more trouble finding the way without Ryoma directly beside him, but the further they go, the more he notices a feeling— like he <em>knows</em> where he is supposed to be going. He catches himself nudging Brocade to one side or another based solely on this feeling, and this, too, would be worrying if not for Ryoma, who stays with them. Surely Ryoma would know if they were not heading toward his pack, and would object?</p><p>It’s a lot of conjecture, Xander will admit, but somehow he feels that this is the one thing recently which <em>doesn’t</em> deserve his worry; and sure enough, before the sun can even reach directly overhead, something that looks like the pack house comes into view, and Xander takes the horses that way.</p><p>It does prove to be the house in truth. He circles around it carefully, noting the greenhouse, the side doors, and considering where to put the horses for now. As he comes around to the front he sees there’s someone waiting there, a tall and somber silhouette. Mikoto lifts her hand in greeting, and Ryoma peels off from the loose entourage to go to her, leaning against her legs.</p><p>Xander dismounts to check on the string of horses, lets Ryoma and Mikoto tend to what they must. Each of the horses is, under his hand, carefully secured to the next in a firmer way, and he switches to a long lead for Brocade, rather than use rein to secure her. Before very long Mikoto comes over, fortunately before Xander is forced to make a decision about where the horses should wait. </p><p>“Most of the pack has already shifted,” Mikoto says. Ryoma lingers further behind her. “It should be safe for the horses around the other side of the house, at least for a little while; it’s largely sheltered from the wind, and the large predators don’t come very near.”</p><p>They are aware this is a den for wolves, Xander suspects. It is, in fact, a minor miracle that the horses are as calm as they are. He has to wonder if some magic might be involved— perhaps Mikoto’s wards, or some evolution of them? Certainly something led him here, after all, and they are all under her auspices...</p><p>Mikoto does not volunteer an answer to the unasked question, and Xander doesn’t ask. </p><p>“Sunset will be around 4:30, this late in the year,” Mikoto says as she leads. Her voice is quiet but carrying. “The moon is already rising, and will be significantly visible around the same time. Once everyone has had the chance to speak, it will be nearly time; I estimate there is space to strategize and eat, and we should not plan on much more.” Ryoma paces by her side rather than Xander’s, potentially because of the horses trailing Xander; but he keeps looking over his shoulder to see where Xander is, which Xander takes to heart.</p><p>The area she leads him to certainly wouldn’t be a suitable long-term shelter, but for an hour or two the horses will be fine; Xander secures them away from where there are heavy tools, notes the presence of walls that will at least keep them out of the wind, and settles himself. He catches Ryoma sniffing in their direction as he does, and this, too, is heartening. </p><p>“Right now they are only wolves,” Mikoto says, as Xander comes back to her and she moves to go inside. “As the moon comes higher and the sun lower, there will be a wildness in them, a certain sort of drive— most months it is only a simple wild joy for life.” </p><p>Most months, she says, and Xander’s mouth twists despite himself. “What about. This one?” he asks.</p><p>“I don’t know yet,” she admits. “I do not think it will be as joyful as some; but I think I would feel a brewing disaster, if there were one.” </p><p>Xander holds his tongue. She did not predict Leo’s kidnapping, for all that her family has spoken around prescience. But: Leo was not here, and was not kidnapped from Mikoto’s watch. That is something. </p><p>Inside the place they wind up is not the library, but the living room, full of wolves and humans both. The wolves there are largely flopped on beanbags or in the large cushioned couch-pit in the middle. Camilla and Corrin are seated at a low side table near a short bookshelf, and Elise on the floor beside them, with the young reddish-gray wolf Xander can by this point reliably identify as Sakura. One of the beanbag wolves, on the smaller side but with a nearly-full coat of warm gray fur, rouses to shake out and come press heavily against Ryoma’s side.</p><p>“Takumi,” Mikoto murmurs; and indeed, now that Xander looks closer, he can see the bowstring curled around one of the gray wolf’s front legs, disrupting the smoothness of the fur. He supposes Takumi and Hinoka never did quite solve the bow problem before one or both of them shifted. </p><p>—Ah, no, only one. Hinoka is still resolutely human, visible mostly as a crop of red human hair among wolves among the couch pillows. She doesn’t get up or even look up, though. Perhaps she is having some difficulties with the same.</p><p>“I believe that’s everyone,” Mikoto says in a few moments, having glanced around the room. She must surely have a keen eye for distinguishing wolves; past the few he already knows, who for the most part have distinctive features, the wolves blend together into a mass of wood-tones and deep fluff. Here and there, Xander catches a yawn, or pricked ears. More than ever, he feels the sense of the nature reserve, and the fact of being in the presence of a genuine wolf pack.</p><p>Ryoma peels off from both of them to go lean over the back of the couch, one paw braced precariously, and stick his nose in Hinoka’s ear. She bats at him irritably, and Mikoto watches fondly.</p><p>Takumi gives Xander what is, for a wolf, a deeply suspicious look. Xander inclines his head, wondering if the gesture will parse. Takumi is well within his rights to be suspicious. In a moment or two Takumi just flicks an ear, huffs, and walks off. </p><p>“Come sit with us,” Camilla calls to him, with a deep and indulgent amusement about her smile and her tone. She pats the short empty chair beside her. </p><p>Xander suspects this is at least in part because it will give her no small amount of enjoyment to see him fold up to sit on something that short. Oh, well; he has sacrificed more to make his siblings happy. He goes to her, and settles down.</p><p>Mikoto stays standing, not quite in the center of the room, but commanding a certain sort of attention nevertheless. Watching from here, further toward the outskirts, Xander swears he can see that every person, every wolf, angles themself toward her, looking subtly or unsubtly. In some cases not looking at all, only turning ever so slightly. </p><p>“While we have the time,” Mikoto begins. “Let us review our immediate course of action. When the pack is ready to run, we will loose them from the house, limiting those running to Ryoma, Hinoka, Takumi, Saizo, and Kagero.” Two wolves, the distinctive red one with the milky eye and a small but powerfully built brown one, lift their heads each in response to their names. “To coordinate fully, those playing the role of hunters should be mounted and ready to go before then— it will necessitate some waiting, but the window shouldn’t be too broad. That’s Xander, Corrin, and Camilla.”</p><p>“And me,” Elise says, mulish in the way she has, with her chin tucked. </p><p>“No,” Xander says, without having to hesitate or think about it at all; and at the same time Camilla says “Absolutely not,” in much the same tone of voice. </p><p>Elise hunkers down where she is, small and darkly angry with her shoulders up and brows furrowed. “Brynhildr likes me,” she argues. “You talked a lot about magic, and you want Brynhildr with you if possible. Brynhildr doesn’t like Camilla, and it won’t let Xander have it, but it likes me. So I’m going with you, with Brynhildr.”</p><p>“They’re only worried about you,” Corrin says in an undertone, anxious and immediately trying to mediate before anything else can happen. “Elise, what if something happens to you?”</p><p>“Something already happened to Leo,” Elise says, too loudly and too sharply. She makes a miserable face afterward, even as Xander and Mikoto both flinch. “I’ll be with you all, won’t I? And, and Brynhildr is magic. And I think it’s angry that it doesn’t have Leo, so it’ll help keep me safe.”</p><p>That’s a lot of anthropomorphizing for a book, even a magical one. But: already, having had Siegfried to call his own for such a short time, Xander knows there is a way to feel as though it feels things, or at least has some opinions about the person who holds it, and the things that surround it. </p><p>“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Camilla says, and glances around for backup.</p><p>“I think there’s enough of us we could make sure nothing happens to Elise, right?” Corrin says. She sounds nervous, but determined. </p><p>Mikoto is frowning delicately, as if in thought. “It’s your own prerogative,” she says finally. “I can’t make out much. Your fourth horse was originally intended for Leo to ride back on, was it not? Will one of them carry two on the return, if necessary?”</p><p>Xander thinks about it, comparing weights – the best bet is Corrin and Elise, if they really <em>must</em> – but there is also the question of how fast they will have to make their way back, and if they can avoid bringing Elise at all…</p><p>“Xander?” Elise presses, leaning forward with her hand on Sakura’s shoulder. “Please? I can help, I know I can, and I’ll be really careful and make sure to stay behind you.” He sees now that she has Brynhildr in her lap, and further that it glows very faintly, with just a hint of sunlight-gold. </p><p>She might be right. Xander looks to Camilla, just to double check how she feels about the whole thing, and finds that her frown seems troubled rather than truly angry. She lifts her shoulders very faintly when she sees Xander looking at her; and, in a few moments, Xander sighs. The pack likes Elise, and they will certainly protect her, and she <em>is</em> right that it will be helpful to have Brynhildr with them, one way or another, especially when it comes to finding their way back <em>out</em>. “All right,” he says. </p><p>“Thank you!” Elise beams at him. “I’ll be really careful, I promise!”</p><p>“And you won’t do anything impatient or foolish, you won’t touch anything shining just because it’s pretty, and you won’t wander off,” Camilla says. The fact her tone is indulgent rather than stern makes it come out sweetly, affectionately, instead of a lecture. Elise nods more and more rapidly with each point, hand absently moving on Sakura’s shoulder. “We worry about you, Elise.”</p><p>“You won’t have to,” Elise promises fiercely.</p><p>Camilla laughs very softly. “We always will. That’s part of having brothers and sisters, you know.”</p><p>This, Xander feels, is true, and especially since the worry comes from loving them. There isn’t any way around it, so he proceeds as gracefully as he can with that worry, day by day. </p><p>One of the wolves, one Xander doesn’t recognize, rouses from the beanbag and goes to scratch thoughtfully at the now-closed door out of the living room. No success is experienced, and after a few moments the wolf settles down, leaning heavily against the door. Mikoto does not <em>quite</em> sigh. “It will be interesting separating a small part of the pack out,” she says delicately. “Ah, well. You will wait by the door; when the wolves run free, immediately you will follow them, staying close. This may provide some difficulty, but Ryoma seemed.... if not peaceful, then merely wary, with the horses?”</p><p>Xander nods. “We practiced,” he says, finding it the simplest word to sum up the hour of getting on and off the horse until the wolf had mastered the concept of Xander remaining Xander even on a horse. </p><p>“Good,” Mikoto says. “The others will take their cues from him.”</p><p>On the couch, Hinoka blows a distinct raspberry. Ryoma flops over on top of her and lets out a heavy sigh, and some minor scuffling between the two of them ensues. Mikoto ignores this and continues blithely onward. “You <em>must</em> stay close,” she says. “Corrin has a talisman I have made to help her blood remember the way to the summerlands, and if you all follow, you should be able to slip between after her; but too far, and you may not.”</p><p>“No pressure,” Hinoka puts in, from half-under the largest wolf in the room. He shifts his weight and she goes <em>oof</em>, the breath going out of her as she disappears under his broad fluff. Xander can well imagine a wolf elbow right in the stomach having precisely that same effect.</p><p>Mikoto looks distinctly amused for a moment, rather than the serene equanimity she has largely been managing. “No pressure,” she echoes, the corner of her mouth tugging up before she puts it back down. “It is a simple concept, in all honesty, and while there are a number of moving pieces—“ She gestures here to the pack at large, in alternate stages of relaxed wolfing. “—the pack tends to stick together. I do estimate it’s the best chance.”</p><p>“Then we’d best get ready to ride, just in case,” Camilla says. “Xander, remember Siegfried. How are your hands?”</p><p>Still aching, now and then, and the skin of his palms is still pink and new along where the cuts were; but they’ve healed much faster than he thinks they should have, and he’s been using gloves to keep them from rubbing raw or catching on anything that might reopen the wounds. He holds them out to show, and Camilla comes over to take each hand in turn and peer at them, head bowed. “Well,” she says. “This is as good as might be expected, but you’ll need to be careful yet.”</p><p>Xander nods mutely. He’s aware. He stretches and stands, taking his hands back from Camilla, and goes over to see what Ryoma and Hinoka are doing — there are two wolves there now, one stocky and reddish, one broad and deep brown. Ryoma’s ears prick up toward Xander; Hinoka affects utter disinterest. </p><p>“Soon, then,” Xander says carefully. “We should go.”</p><p>“That would be well,” Mikoto agrees. “Kaze, please help me split the pack according to who will go and stay. Xander and Camilla, when you are done with your preparations, please return to me and I will show you where to meet the wolves on the outside.”</p><p>That seems reasonable. Xander nods, turns. Elise catches him about the waist for a quick, book-edged hug even as he tries to go upstairs to where he can <em>feel</em> Siegfried waiting for him, and Xander can’t help but hold her for a moment, though he is not so teasing as to ruffle up her carefully made pigtails. It will be harder, keeping this many people safe, he thinks; but the more he thinks about it, the more he decides he is pleased to have her with them. Her company helps many things.</p><p>Upstairs, the sense of Siegfried grows stronger and stronger as Xander moves toward it. He’s not sure... no, he hasn’t, has he? He hasn’t held the sword since he brought it home—</p><p>Since he brought it away from home, that is. Xander doesn’t examine the strange bubble in his thinking and instead examines the sword. </p><p>It still looks all rusted out, a skeleton of a sword barely stronger than it was when Father first put it into his hands; but when Xander puts his hand to the hilt that all seems to fall away like so much illusion, and he’s holding a long sword of sleek black metal, silver-steel where the edge is sharpest and the pommel adorned with gold and that deep violet gem he had seen before. He can feel, he thinks, where it anchors to him, deep inside somewhere that can’t be touched by human hands. </p><p>It hums faintly to him, a low thrum that travels up his arm as he holds it before him. Xander feels— not reassured. But held, somehow, in a way that no other has quite managed.</p><p>He is not alone, it tells him. He will never be alone. And whether this is the sword’s promise or a truth it reveals to him, Xander believes it.</p>
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<a name="section0052"><h2>52. can you hear the horses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wolf follows the one he wants to follow above all others, and he runs, and he runs, and he <em>runs</em>, earth eaten up beneath him in vast strides. There is pack; there is his favorite; there is the moonlit path that stretches out broad before.</p><p>His favorite, the mate who isn’t-quite-yet, the one who is sunlight and earth and sleep and safety and the warmth of home, rides something <em>else</em>. Something that is <em>not</em> him, and is gross and dangerous besides — there’s something about the conjunction of man and horse that, were it not for the earlier demonstration, the wolf would spook from. As it is, old things rouse up in him, things that make him want to bite and snarl and maybe yelp. </p><p>Men on horses are not desirable.</p><p>The others are, while two-legged, at least not men, which the wolf will acknowledge gives them a leg up. Still: he had rather follow his than any of them, stupid as following a hunter might be. It’s just chance that the one who’s his is following the others in turn. </p><p>The wolf has his pack, and the one who’s his, so all is well. There are sneaking senses of unease, but with the warm fur of brothers and sisters beside him, and the jubilant moon shining full overhead, how could he listen to any of those? While he’s thinking of it, the wolf tilts his head back, bells a cheerful note. He is here, and pack is here, and let those they would eat flee, if they think they are fast enough! </p><p>Beside him the rest of the pack joins in, even as they dig paws into the cold rich soil and lunge forward and forward and forward. There is running to do, and songs to sing—</p><p>The horses run with the pack. The wolf keeps having to shy away from the hooves. It breaks his song, every time he has to; but when he does break, his sister or his brother or his sister pick it up. There’s something wrong with that thought, too, something sinking in underneath all chill like it rises from the wintering earth, but—</p><p>There is too much joy to worry about it now. </p><p>His sister diverges from the pack sharply, and one of the two-legged yelps. “Oh— no, come back, we need you—“</p><p>The wolf snorts. He understands that much, at least. And it is right that pack should run together, but she’s hungry. She is fast, too, his closest sister; she will join them again before long. </p><p>“I don’t think we can stop them,” says one of the others. “But we still have at least four, and we’re sure Ryoma will stay with Xander—“</p><p>Ryoma. That’s the wolf’s name. He remembers that. It’s not that he forgot, he thinks; it’s just not as important, when they’re running with the moon. But his name kindles something else in him, something that hums and jitters and smells like the strike of a storm. That, too, is important.</p><p>He thinks they’re worried about his sister. Hinoka. He doesn’t have a way to tell them it’s fine, especially when he’s loping along horses like this. But it’s fine. He tilts his head back and breathes in the air. It occurs, vaguely, to wonder where they’re going — one of the horses with two-legged astride is in the front. This, too, is fine: she is a sister also, Ryoma knows. Her scent when he turns his head her way makes him think of pack, even if it’s a pack tangled up with wilderness and something that doesn’t belong at all. She seems to know where she’s going. </p><p>And she’s running in her way, as well as someone can when they don’t have two legs. Satisfied, Ryoma closes his mouth and keeps moving. </p><p>His sister breaks out of the undergrowth to the left and rejoins the pack at large, feet sure and swift. Swifter than him — Ryoma sees her slow her pace, pass her tongue around her mouth to catch the last of whatever morsel had been her prey. She’s fast, and now fed. Ryoma shoulders her affectionately — she shoulders him back — they keep running, jaws parted to smile at each other. </p><p>“—she’s back,” says the two-legged who was concerned earlier. “I guess she was hungry?”</p><p>Ryoma’s sunlight-man sounds amused. “It <em>is</em>,” he says, pausing between breaths, “a hunt.”</p><p>“They’re so <em>fast</em>,” says the youngest of them all, from near the back of the pack. </p><p>Wolves shift positions, brush against each other in reassuring contact. Sometimes it is hard to tell that he’s Ryoma, not just part of the pack. </p><p>One of the women is saying a lot of things very quietly now, things the wolf doesn’t quite catch. Voice flows and resolves and becomes part of the packsong before so very long, and the wolf forgets to worry about it. They run and run, forgetting themselves in the rush of it all, in the sheer delight of togetherness and movement. </p><p>The wolf couldn’t say when the forest begins to change. Only that it <em>does</em>, that the scents shift, that the cool winter becomes something warmer and more humid, that sea-salt and fresh leafing growing things begin to wind in among the crisp evergreen trees and twine through everything else, slowly overrunning the forest with something somehow wilder, unchecked growth that consumes all given half a chance, it grows it grows it grows and the sun starts to rise with it, and the wolf runs blindly onward, called by his own sunlight and the yearning to run and never never never—</p><p>Stop.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0053"><h2>53. under the hills and far away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma hits the ground hard, naked and confused at the sun overhead, the way he can hear the wind in the trees shifting leaves, not needles, and there’s grass beneath him and the warmth of sunlight on his skin. He rolls to the side, stares blankly up — blue sky, partially obscured by the bright translucent green of leaves, maple leaves bigger than he’s ever seen before. He holds his hand up to judge — no, they are <em>very</em> big, and possibly bigger, if they’re as high up as he thinks they are.</p><p>The situation filters back slowly. Ryoma puts pieces in order. His joints ache, his back definitely has a stone digging into it, and he thinks he scraped something raw when he crashed out of wolf form and back into human shape. His shins and elbows sting faintly.</p><p>“My <em>head</em>,” Hinoka groans from somewhere nearby. “I’ve never been hungover before. Is this what a hangover feels like?”</p><p>“How the hell should I know,” Takumi mutters. “<em>Ugh</em>, my neck. Did anyone think to bring clothes?”</p><p>“Lucky for <em>you</em> all,” one of the two-legged says. Ryoma takes a little while to put names together. It’s Camilla, sounding very pleased with herself, and making noises like she’s rustling around in some kind of container, probably a satchel judging by the shifting cloth. “Orochi gave me a bunch of— oh, what was it she called them. Yukata? To give to you when you shifted back.”</p><p>Oh, that’s good. Ryoma deeply considers getting up to go and get one from her, and then does absolutely no such thing, rather lacking the will to get up. </p><p>“And protein shakes,” Camilla says consideringly. “I suppose that’s wise, since you didn’t actually catch anything. Except Hinoka.”</p><p>“Was tasty,” Hinoka says, dreamy. </p><p>“I certainly hope it was.” Camilla at least sounds amused. “You don’t seem to make much issue of changing most of the time, but it sounded like these nights take more…?”</p><p>“It’s a greater effort to be human around this time,” Ryoma says. Talking is easier than the thought of getting up. “But this is… whiplash, maybe. From full moon to. Whatever this is.” Now that she’s mentioned it, he’s realizing, or remembering, that none of them have any clothes on. He should care a lot more about that concept, really, but like many other things, he’s rather too tired to care at the moment. Normally they can sleep this off.</p><p>Normally they haven’t just invaded the fae lands in search of a kidnap victim, accompanied by sisters they need to keep safe. </p><p>“Don’t everyone jump at once,” Camilla says, continually amused. “Oh, all right, I’ll play nurse for you, how’s that.”</p><p>“What is <em>wrong</em> with you,” Takumi says flatly to the unanswering sky. </p><p>There’s the sound of Camilla moving, of additional shifting cloth. “Does something have to be wrong with me if I just want to take care of you?” she says sweetly. It’s the sort of sweet that goes with overripe berries; Ryoma doesn’t really believe it, but there’s not a good way to answer that question without being relentlessly sarcastic, and he doubts if anyone has the energy for that right now. Further sounds follow — things being set down, cloth drifting down through the air. “One for you— one for <em>you— Do</em> keep track of the caps and bottles, I hate to think of the scolding we’d get for littering here—“</p><p>Someone among the wolves — it sounds like Saizo — laughs, but it’s a quickly swallowed sound, one he’s trying very rapidly to pretend he didn’t actually make. </p><p>“It can all go right back in my bag after,” Camilla continues comfortably. “Takumi... Kagero... Sakura...” She keeps going, but there’s something wrong with the list. </p><p>When Ryoma realizes what was wrong, despite all his difficulties he sits bolt upright, squinting against the sunlight. Sure enough, there’s Sakura, hair rumpled, peeking out from under a pink yukata freshly dropped on top of her. Sakura <em>wasn’t supposed to come with them</em>. “When did you—“ he demands, and her shoulders curl in defensively.</p><p>Gentle. Gentle. Never mind that he’s loud because he’s worried for her; Sakura takes many things more harshly than she needs to. Ryoma draws a deep breath, meaning to try to say something else, and the wind goes out of him as Camilla drops the final yukata over his head. </p><p>The sunlight takes on a deep reddish quality where it filters through the cloth. Ryoma winds up taking several more deep breaths to get his arms into the sleeves, and his legs are shaky when he stands to draw it properly around him and tie it shut, so he has to focus on his balance rather than his words, and by the time <em>that’s</em> achieved, he finds it’s much easier to be calm. </p><p>“I’m sure she was only worried,” Camilla says primly, having gone back to her horse to pointedly look away as wolf after wolf rises up in human form and struggles into clothing. </p><p>Only worried. Only worried. Ryoma— understands this, more’s the pity, and it makes it harder to be angry. Not that he really <em>wanted</em> to be angry at Sakura anyway, but the alternative is himself being worried, constantly looking behind for her safety. Of all his siblings Sakura is the gentlest. As a wolf she may take off after a rabbit just like the rest of them, but there is still an earnest kindness in her, persistent and true.</p><p>Silently, Ryoma drinks the protein shake Camilla brought, and stews in the terrible mix of fear and love that is the desperate worry for someone else’s safety, brought to the surface by Sakura but rapidly branching out to touch his entire family. Certainly, Hinoka can take care of herself, and Takumi has that coiled bowstring of wind and power still with him, and Corrin surely has her fae roots to touch even if it might not be a wise idea— but anything can happen, even to those who believe they are strong and capable and safe. </p><p>That’s been proven to Ryoma, rather solidly, far more than once. </p><p>But there is nothing for it now. They will just have to cope. Ryoma looks at Sakura again, finds her neatly clothed and flushed about the face. “I couldn’t bear it,” Sakura says softly, when he looks at her, as if she was just waiting for the weight of his gaze to defend her choice. “I know it’s dangerous, but I couldn’t take being the only one left.”</p><p>What of Mother, Ryoma thinks, and doesn’t say; Mother has Orochi with her, has Yukimura and the rest of the pack. She isn’t <em>alone</em>, just without her children. “Please stick close to Elise and Corrin,” he says instead. “It will... ease my worries a little, to have you all in one place.” </p><p>“All right,” Sakura murmurs, twisting her hands together. “I know.... I know you worry. I’m young. But I... I’m a wolf too, after all. I’ll keep them safe, if it comes to that.” There’s a certain sort of quiet determination written large in her face, as she tilts her chin up to focus on Ryoma. “You don’t have to worry.”</p><p>Ryoma would disagree with that assessment. He does, in fact, have to worry. There’s no way he can’t. And further, he had meant the instruction to keep the youngest all together, where they might most easily be protected by the elder. But:</p><p>She, too, is a wolf. </p><p>He forces his expression into a poor excuse for a smile, tilts his head. “Please be careful,” he says instead.</p><p>Sakura nods; and then Elise is on her other arm, and has her attention, and Ryoma is glad enough for the excuse to step back and work at processing the weight pressing down on him alone. What changes, with one more sister here? Functionally not all that much — there are still people he loves and wants safe more than anything else, and they are still marching into the unknown ahead blind — but it’s as if there’s some threshold on the number of people he can look after on his own without feeling unequal to the task, and Sakura has crossed it.</p><p>Sunlight and rich earth strikes his nose, and automatically Ryoma turns his head to his left, eyes coming up; and there is Xander, on foot with horse behind him, a sword at his back and a look of simple understanding on his face. “Elise likes Sakura,” Xander says, in the careful way he has of getting words out these days, the way Ryoma’s quickly becoming accustomed to and even fond of. “So Brynhildr will help protect them both.”</p><p>And here is Xander, reminding Ryoma that others may <em>also</em> protect what’s his. Ryoma’s expression breaks into a sheepish smile, one he can feel at the corner of his eyes, in the way his shoulders drop from where they’ve been set rigid. “She was just reminding me that even if she’s the smallest of us, the smallest wolf is still a wolf.”</p><p>Xander nods, seeming to think something over carefully; and in a moment he says, “Hinoka might be smaller.”</p><p>Ryoma laughs sudden and startled, fully not meaning to, and in the moment after glances from side to side to make sure Hinoka isn’t listening. “Don’t let her hear you say that,” he cautions, and Xander’s wry smile tells Ryoma that he is well aware of the dangers of such a joke.</p><p>Saizo’s the first to declare that he’d rather scout a bit than stay here, and Ryoma nods to him, gives him only the barest of mindful looks. Saizo shucks off his yukata, shifting as he does, and ranges away. </p><p>The place they’ve found themselves is partially wooded, but it’s sunny and full of trees that lose their leaves in the autumn. To one side, the trees begin to be more widely spaced, as if they’re right on the edge of the forest, and it’s in that direction that the earth slopes gently downward. Saizo, true to form, aims himself into the trees first. “Don’t go too far,” Kagero murmurs to him as he passes her, and Saizo flicks his tail in an acknowledgment that may or may not be a plan to comply.</p><p>“Maybe I can ask Brynhildr,” Elise pipes up from nearly the center of the little knot of pack. Ryoma looks toward her with interest, and indeed there’s a general turning of heads toward her as she drops down cross-legged in the grass and cracks the book open in her lap. She hunkers over it, running fingers idly along pages both blank and inked. “Um... can you tell us about the area?”</p><p>There’s some riffling of the page-corners, otherwise unprompted by mortal hands, but other than that the book remains still. Elise nibbles on her thumbnail. “What about the trees?” she says hopefully. “You do plants, right?”</p><p>One page tugs up under her hands, turns over. There’s a dark sketch of a tree there, something that looks angry, twisted. Elise pouts at it. “I don’t know how to understand you,” she confesses. “Not all the way. Is there... oh, um, is there something wrong with these trees?”</p><p>The trees Saizo has just gone off into. As Ryoma is thinking that, the book snaps shut, just barely avoiding Elise. He doesn’t know how to take that — perhaps there’s nothing else to say on the topic, and Elise has guessed it? — but Kagero already has some conclusion, and has dropped into brown-furred wolf form as quick as a shot, taking off after Saizo with cloth fluttering behind her. Ryoma wonders — is there something in the way the leaves rustle? His spine prickles.</p><p>But nothing has happened. Not yet.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Camilla begins, with a defined sort of delicacy about her, “we should head down the slope, and away from the woods.”</p><p>“I think that’s a good idea.” Elise turns a few more pages, the worried knit between her brows growing with every one of them. “Oh, I <em>wish— </em>why can’t you just use text?”</p><p>The next page she turns, even from where he is, Ryoma can see has a frowny face stenciled on it. Elise laughs — it turns into something that sounds much more upset than it started — and she leans over to put her face in the book for a moment, hiding whatever giveaway expression is there.</p><p>Ryoma looks away.</p><p>Two wolves tear out of the wooded area at high speed, pacing each other neck and neck. The dark red one is covered in leaves and has his ears flat back to his skull; the brown runs with her ears forward, legs long and loping. Both of them skid to a halt near Ryoma, throwing up dirt and dead leaves and some unfortunate uprooted grass.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re safe,” Ryoma tells them both in all earnestness, and gets their ears pointed his way for his trouble before each in their way goes to nose under their yukata and make a bare concession to non-nudity for the sake of their guests. </p><p>“The trees are wrong,” is the first thing out of Kagero’s mouth, before she’s even managed to put her arms all the way through her sleeves. Ryoma catches flickers of her motions and looks politely aside again. “Not mobile or hostile, just wrong.”</p><p>“Could it be some side effect of being a little out of our world?” Camilla leans in, interested.</p><p>“<em>Could</em> be.” Saizo moves into Ryoma’s field of vision, tying off his yukata with crisp, economical movements. “Can’t say for sure.”</p><p>“Is there anything else you can say about ‘wrong’?” Ryoma asks. He’s sure Kagero is trying her best, it’s just that ‘wrong’ covers a lot of ground. And he has this sinking feeling that what they want will be in the direction that doesn’t want them.</p><p>“Not sure,” Kagero says shortly, stops, and Ryoma can practically hear her thinking it through. Eventually she speaks again. “They didn’t smell like any trees I know of. And I know I said they weren’t mobile, but there was something…”</p><p>She trails off; Saizo cuts in brusquely. “They were growing,” he says. “Fast enough to see. And they’re not healthy trees.”</p><p>“Oh <em>no</em>,” Elise says quietly, closing Brynhildr. “That’s really sad. But… how are they growing if they’re not healthy?”</p><p>“There’s plenty of things that don’t have to be healthy to grow,” Takumi tells her, sounding lofty but not unkind. Perhaps, Ryoma thinks, just taking more pleasure than he has to in knowing something she doesn’t. “Or growth that isn’t healthy. That’s why plants have to be pruned, right?”</p><p>Elise brightens, putting pieces together. “Oh, that’s <em>right</em>. Maybe they’re just growing too much, too fast, and overextending themselves.”</p><p>“…maybe,” Kagero says, not eager to commit to any one explanation. “In any case, I don’t trust it.”</p><p>“That’s wise,” Camilla says. She motions to Xander, then to the horses, and he moves without speaking; together they carefully get all of the animals together, collecting leads from saddlebags and clipping them on.</p><p>Ryoma automatically checks in on his siblings while they’re working. All of them look a little worn, a little tired, but no one seems about to fall over. Hinoka appears quietly manic, bright-eyed and pacing back and forth on the spot. It’s definitely not an efficient use of her energy, but Ryoma’s not about to be the one to tell her that.</p><p>Corrin, too, is checking on everyone, stepping light-footed between people with bitten lip and an anxious look in her eyes. For all that, though, it’s Elise she lingers near longest, arms tight around her shoulders. Ryoma doesn’t begrudge it, but he thinks that it may be a long time before he stops wishing that things might have been different, that they might have had more time.</p><p>Consciously he sets that aside to feel later. They have more important things to do right now.</p><p>When Camilla and Xander have secured the horses properly, and the majority of the wolves are looking functional and not too exhausted to stand, they all naturally drift toward clumping up for easy conversation again. Camilla’s the one who drives the action initially. “If the woods are a non-starter for now, then we can scout in the other direction,” she says without preamble. “But it’s worth considering that Leo may be where we least want to go. Elise? Have you managed anything more from Brynhildr?”</p><p>Elise bites her lip in silent mirror of Corrin, and then opens the book and turns it so the pages face them. There’s just runes, some glowing faintly, some dark and scribbled so hard they look like they should have torn through the paper. She turns a page over — runes.</p><p>On the third page she shows them, the runes are arranged like waves, the stylized scallops of an ocean marked in dark, hard angles.</p><p>There are bemused looks exchanged among them all. “We had assumed that it would fix on Leo,” Camilla says delicately. “Since it is his. Do you still feel as if that’s a safe assumption?”</p><p>The question seems to be largely addressed to the group. Hinoka shrugs; Takumi nods, eyes dark and one hand at the other wrist. “It <em>wants</em>, I think,” he says. “Ryoma’s isn’t something separate, and Xander’s, uh— special?” He fumbles for words, goes red around the edges, and mercifully there are other siblings there who recognize the hunch of his shoulders for defensiveness and say nothing about it, Xander among them with a faintly fond slant to his expression. “But Fujin— Fujin Yumi— it was practically yelling at Hinoka, then me. So if Brynhildr’s at all the same, I think we can keep assuming that. I don’t know what it’s on about now, though.”</p><p>Elise nods, still frowning, and closes Brynhildr again to hug it to her chest. “I can’t tell what’s wrong with the trees,” she says. “Or what the water’s about. Just that Brynhildr’s really unhappy about it.”</p><p>Saizo eyeballs the treeline dubiously. Kagero shrugs faintly. “We can scout the other way,” she says, cutting through magical considerations to action. “I caught a hint of sea-salt earlier. Might be there’s water where we can’t see it yet.”</p><p>Ryoma nods to them, and they separate from the group apace before taking off again, yukata falling to the ground behind them with quick motions and shifts.</p><p>Camilla turns her head to watch them go. “Didn’t your mother warn us it would be foolish to trust much we might find here?”</p><p>To this Ryoma nods again. “But Mother came from this place, once, too,” he reminds them all. “As did Corrin. As did Mother’s sister.”</p><p>Camilla tilts her head in quiet acknowledgment. “Then it’s waiting for a little while for them to report; and we’ll decide again for now. Ideas on the… trees?”</p><p>“They said the trees weren’t hostile.” Hinoka tries to jam her hands in her pockets, remembers she’s not wearing jeans, and scowls. “Just wrong.”</p><p>“Wrong,” Xander repeats soberly. “That may become more than was seen.”</p><p>“That’s great,” Takumi says, all acid and unhappiness, and hunkers down on the ground again. “Any bets on how wrong whatever water we find is going to be?” There are no answers; no one wishes to take that bet.</p><p>Takumi looks very much as if he wishes to shift again, but doesn’t, just folds in on himself. Ryoma would go to be near him and offer — something — but Takumi is not the sort who likes to accept comfort in public.</p><p>Still. Nearness wouldn’t hurt.</p><p>Ryoma leans toward Xander, and a brief conjunction of their desires winds up with hands tangled through each other, a gentle press of mouth to mouth; then Ryoma steps away and goes to toss himself on the ground between Takumi and Sakura, equidistant to both and offering as much plausible deniability as Takumi might want.</p><p>He will take care of his siblings. No matter what. </p>
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<a name="section0054"><h2>54. the bard's song will remain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Kagero and Saizo return, Camilla gives them a critical once-over and then goes to retrieve additional food from saddlebags. She and Mikoto must have been working together in all sincerity while he and Ryoma were gone, Xander realizes, and is glad for it. Not only has it made them more prepared than they might otherwise be, but also the collaboration of their families even under stressful, blame-ridden circumstances carries good omens for the future.</p><p>Xander turns away from them, paces a quick stretch of leaf-litter and dirt while he waits for them to gather themselves again and report. He pays attention to the sounds of siblings and the whisper of winds, and more than once finds the instinct to reach for Siegfried, which has stayed as a comforting weight across his back. It’s long, and he has precious little experience with swords; but somehow it wasn’t hard at all to figure out precisely the correct angle to settle it at. Hopefully Siegfried will help to make up for his deficiencies.</p><p>Sometimes, between breaths, Xander thinks he feels what Saizo meant by the trees being wrong. There’s a difficult quality about this place that seems like if he looks closely enough he’ll see seams holding it together; and in those spaces between breaths Xander becomes convinced for heartbeats at a time that those things which have looked familiar are in truth completely alien.</p><p>He will not be able to relax here.</p><p>“There’s houses down the hill,” Kagero starts, and Xander paces back the short distance he’s gone to listen more closely. “They aren’t in good condition— many of them don’t have roofs any longer, or are overgrown. The style looks old, though.”</p><p>“How old?” Camilla wants to know.</p><p>Saizo makes a cranky sort of a noise. “Old. We’re not history majors. Trees are thinner there, but still present.”</p><p>There’s a pause as most of the group looks at Elise. She looks down at Brynhildr, flicks some pages. Gives them a helpless shrug. “I don’t <em>know</em>,” she says, in the way she has that’s trying very hard not to whine. “It’s the same problem.”</p><p>“There’s also,” Kagero says, and then stops dead. She’s frowning, Xander sees, and her eyes are distant, unfocused.</p><p>“Kagero?” Ryoma prompts from the ground.</p><p>She shakes herself, comes to what looks like the present moment again. “There’s a scent there,” she says. “Not like anything I’ve scented before. The <em>closest</em> resemblance I can think of is Mikoto.”</p><p>Ryoma goes very still. Most of the pack does, in fact, with the exception of Sakura, who leaps to her feet with a soft gasp. “There’s people here,” she says, all in a rush as if the words might fail before she gets them out. “Like Mother— what if it’s Mother’s sister?”</p><p>“There’s no way to tell without going down there,” Kagero says soberly, and looks to Ryoma.</p><p>“Then we go,” he says, as simple as that. “At least it’s the opposite direction frm the woods.”</p><p>No one argues. Xander suspects they have concluded, as he has, that finding any sort of being who might speak to them, Mikoto’s sister or not, is a better first step than the wild, wild woods.</p><p>With that decided, the group of them get on their way, slower for not being used to lengthy travel or indeed traveling together. Saizo and Kagero range ahead as they seem accustomed to, even in human form. Xander takes over leading the horses, Camilla a little way before him and Elise astride one behind him. Sakura, though offered a horse, declines and sticks fast to Hinoka’s side, and in turn Takumi stays near Ryoma — though as Xander glances at him, it seems as if Takumi’s trying not to look like he’s doing that.</p><p>True to Kagero and Saizo’s report, the gentle slope becomes something a little steeper, and at the bottom of them a collection of houses like a village; but overrun with brown and green and here and there lush, brightly-colored flowers. Something’s wrong about those, too. As they begin to draw closer Xander squints at them — ah, that’s what it is. Most of the flowers are lopsided, half-formed or malformed or unbalanced.</p><p>He doesn’t know what could cause that, and almost hopes Elise doesn’t notice. Surely Leo would have; perhaps Leo would be able to say something about the ways growth can go wrong or right in plants, and what it might mean to see these like this. For now Xander keeps it to himself. </p><p>Kagero keeps pausing to breathe the air, eyes closed and mouth open as if she means to taste it. “Why don’t you just shift?” Elise says after some further slow progression.</p><p>“I think it’s getting harder, here,” Kagero murmurs, absent and distant. Her head turns side to side; she picks a new direction, at an angle between two crumbling houses, and they follow. “And it was full moon, there. It might not be wise to push our luck much further. Perhaps if Saizo feels like translating.”</p><p>“Stick it out as long as we can,” Saizo says gruffly, and ducks away from the group to circle one of those houses. Xander catches glimpses of red on the other side as he goes, seen through the gaps in the walls. </p><p>The last of the houses is near the water — and the water, such as it is, nearly sneaks up on them. When seen with that context, the houses, the village was clearly built to border the lake — Xander can imagine fishing and swimming and little boats under the height of the summer sun — but the edges of the water are choked with weeds, and thick green algae floats on top, covering much of the lake. Nearly as far as the eye can see. It doesn’t seem like this should be the source of the intermittent scent of the sea, but nevertheless, sometimes it feels as though there’s more here than only a lake.</p><p>Kagero turns them toward the water. The group’s path parallels it for a while, as they move past the last of the crumbling houses and along the bank— ah, no, there’s one more. Xander knows without having to be told that the first of what they’re looking for is there. It’s mostly in one piece, overgrown and mossy but not <em>crumbling</em>, and a white cloth hangs out the window beneath the intact shutters. </p><p>“There,” Kagero says then, and shakes herself. She seems like she’s coming back from a long way away, and her dark eyes have an honest confusion. “I... think. It’s harder to smell here.”</p><p>“It looks like people could live here,” Corrin says. “I know we’re supposed to be careful, but if it smells like Mikoto— like, um, Mother— then it’s worth a try, right? We can’t afford to take forever, either.” And then, without waiting for anyone, despite the way Ryoma tries to put himself in front of her like a shield, Corrin slips out of the group of them, self-assured, moving like her feet will only ever land where she wants them to. </p><p>Xander remembers, when she was younger, she had been clumsy, as if the world was never where she expected it; and she had been <em>impossible</em> to keep in shoes. Perhaps this was her natural place, but— he does not like to imagine his sister in such an empty ruin. </p><p>At least the skies are clear, even if the waters aren’t.</p><p>Corrin finds the door, cloaked by a riot of colorful flowers falling at odd angles. She nods to herself — knocks briskly at the door. “Hello?”</p><p>The door swings back, as if the person inside had only ever been waiting for Corrin to knock. Even through the half-veil of flowers and leaves, Xander can see — a girl, perhaps Corrin’s age or so, and a waterfall of shockingly blue hair. “You <em>came</em>,” the girl says, in a voice rich with wonder.</p><p>Xander should know her, he thinks. Even half blocked by Corrin’s body, there’s something of familiarity that nags at him, like he’s seen this person before somewhere even though when he reaches for a memory he comes up wholly blank, finds only an empty space and the supposition that he’s seen plenty of young women who’ve dyed their hair blue.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have,” the girl goes on, reaching up and patting Corrin’s face. “But I’m glad you did.”</p><p>“Um.” Corrin scrambles for words, hesitantly mirrors the gesture — reaches out, pats the girl’s cheek. Xander bites back wholly inappropriate laughter. “It’s— nice to meet you?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, that too.” The girl steps delicately around Corrin, surveys the rest of them with her head tilted back slightly. Now that Xander sees her properly in the light the sense of deja vu is twice as strong, and he’s certain he’s seen her somewhere before, if only he could place <em>where</em>. Her eyes are strange, too, large and luminous, a gold Xander hasn’t seen on any humans before; she’s dressed unceremoniously in neutral tones, a hundred fluttering pieces of cloth nothing like a normal dress, rather something assembled piecemeal, as if from whatever she could find. “You’ve all grown so much.” </p><p>“...I suppose we would have,” Camilla murmurs. Xander turns toward her, meaning to ask; but then the girl is moving past them all, right into the group of people to go to Camilla and put arms around her waist. “—do I...” </p><p>She trails off much the same way Xander’s attempts at recollection do, and her brows draw down in a bemused frown even as she absently puts her free arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I <em>do</em> know you, don’t I,” she says. “From a long time ago.”</p><p>“Mmhm.” The girl hides her face in Camilla’s chest, and her words come out muffled. “Mother tried to keep us safe. It’s not safe to be remembered or spoken of, so...”</p><p>Xander rubs at his temples, tries not to look too visibly dismayed. The last thing he needs is for someone <em>else</em> to have been editing his memories, but it’s beginning to sound like that’s what happened. </p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t remember your name,” Camilla says gently. “Ah, but your mother would have been... our father’s second wife?” </p><p>“Azura,” the girl says. She lifts her head, steps out of Camilla’s grasp and looks around at all of them. If she’s been crying she hides it well; there’s nothing but a curious, wide-eyed look. “I’m Azura. I know... Xander wasn’t allowed to talk to me, any more. Leo passed me notes. Mother complained about him.” There’s a quick flicker of a smile — an awkward one, as if she’s only ever seen the expression made on other people and doesn’t quite know how to do it herself. “I think... Elise was just a baby when Mother left him?”</p><p>Elise waves. Azura focuses on the movement, then on the girl, and her eyes go wide. “It’s been a long time.”</p><p>“<em>Excuse me</em>,” Takumi puts in. He steps right into the middle of the impromptu family reunion, frowning at all of them in turn. “This is nice and all, but we’ve got things to do. You, um. Azura.” </p><p>She looks guileless at him. Xander swears her hair actually shifts like water. </p><p>Takumi shifts on the spot, apparently discomforted, and blows a gusty breath out. “Yeah, there’s no good way to put this. Is your mom alive?” </p><p>“<em>Takumi</em>,” comes in stereo from each of his elder siblings, in their own ways disapproving. Takumi ignores them. As much as Xander is of similar sentiment, he appreciates Takumi’s venture — there truly was no tactful way to inquire after that. He would have assumed Arete was dead, himself, given that none of their mothers seemed to have survived long past giving Garon a child. </p><p>“Oh,” Azura says, as if it had only just occurred to her that it might be a question to ask at all. “Her body is alive. Sometimes she’s awake. Would you like to come in?”</p><p>Xander trades glances with Ryoma — it’s comforting to see Ryoma, who is used to these things, seems just as unsettled by that statement as Xander is. For some moments Xander can’t find the words to answer, but Camilla steps in. “If your mother won’t mind, of course.”</p><p>“If she wakes up, she’ll be happy to see her niece.” Azura has a continuing tranquil air about her as she turns on the spot, considering each of them in turn. “Oh, I suppose I don’t know all of you, but the rest of you seem like you’re my aunt’s. That’s right, isn’t it?”</p><p>There’s hesitation from the wolves; finally Ryoma takes a step forward, inclines his head and shoulders. “If your mother is Arete, then it is her sister who protects our pack, yes. Her name may be different now than it was.”</p><p>“Pack?” Azura says, and forges on without waiting for an answer. “Oh, you’re <em>wolves</em>. That’s all right, then. You can come in.” She turns the rest of the way around and loops her arm through Corrin’s. The door that was behind her still stands ajar, and as she pushes it open further Xander catches flickers of blueish light from within, nothing like the late sun overhead or any flame he can imagine. </p><p>Corrin goes with her unquestioningly, jarring the overhead flowers so they sway and swing, dislodging faint sprays of pollen and a few errant leaves. It’s Corrin’s motion, Xander thinks, that removes the hesitation from the rest of them; neither his family nor the wolves would be willing to let her go alone, to whatever lies ahead. </p><p>“It’s a small house,” Kagero says. “We’ll keep the door.” She sits down rather abruptly just to the side of it. “And the horses, if that’s well.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Ryoma says, and nods to Saizo as well; and then he’s heading inside, and Xander goes after him. </p><p>There’s an automatic check for his siblings as Xander assesses the new location. Camilla, having handed the horses off, just behind him — Elise with her, a little hitch in her step that makes Xander think of skipping — Corrin ahead, looking curiously around and still with her arm in Azura’s — Leo... right. No Leo. That hits Xander again, and he grimaces even as he steps out of the way of the door.</p><p>That’s what they’re here for. The empty hole will be filled. Somehow.</p><p>Inside proves to be both like and unlike the outside. The stone walls are clean, the wooden shutters let only trickles of light in around the edges, and it feels bigger than it looked from the outside; but the floor is all over moss and growing things, the springy sort that beg to be touched and appreciated for their lushness. Azura goes barefoot, he notes belatedly. Perhaps it’s something of the fae. </p><p>The inner space isn’t divided much. There’s an old-style brick oven or stove off to one side, not quite given its own room except by virtue of distance, and opposite the entrance is a low wall to delineate the space, no more than waist high. Fixtures in the wall flicker with blue flame — Xander thinks at first it’s metal, but the texture’s wrong, and a second look makes him think it must be antler. The smokeless flames have no visible fuel, but they still stir with every breath, sway as Sakura closes the door most of the way behind her. </p><p>In that furthest back space, Xander sees a bed with a figure in it, draped in cloth and very still. And distantly, the sound of running water nags at him — he can’t see a source for it. </p><p>Azura moves further back, unwinding herself from Corrin to do so. The rustle of cloth goes with her, and in the flickering blue light the trail of her hair behind her looks like nothing so much as a river. She drops to the ground by the bed and the figure all graceless poise, head tilted as if to listen. A wind picks up, one that shouldn’t be able to inside — the flames stir, those plants taller than a few inches waver. The brisk breeze has the scent of winter in it, something chilly and stinging. Next to him, Ryoma sneezes, first once then several times in a row, and he’s not the only wolf to do so, though Hinoka seems to be scrunching up her face and holding her breath as a defensive measure. </p><p>No one seems to want to follow Azura, not even Corrin, who’s rocked up onto the tips of her toes to watch, teetering back and forth as she does. Eventually Azura gets up, and rather than walk around the low wall climbs up to perch on top of it, watching them all. Her eyes in this light gleam, reflecting the blue light of the flames. “Mother can’t wake up right now,” she says. “But she’s listening. I can explain some things. You’re here because something changed, right?” </p><p>“It’s Leo,” Camilla says, stepping in where Xander’s words fail him. Even having accepted the issue at hand, it’s hard to say out loud, to acknowledge the truth of over and over again. “He’s here somewhere. Kidnapped.”</p><p>“We thought something had changed.” Azura nods, apparently mostly unaffected by the news. “It will be the wild that has him, after all. That one was asleep for the longest time, you know?”</p><p>“Can you explain <em>that one</em>?” Hinoka asks. She plops down on the moss, folds her legs up under her and looks expectantly up at Azura. “Mother can’t say a lot. We have maybe half the knowledge we need, if that, and even after this long with Mother we don’t know everything about how her people work. Whatever you can say, we need it. We need to understand.” Both Sakura and Elise settle close beside her, Elise with Brynhildr in her lap, Sakura with a worried slant to her expression and her lip caught in her teeth. </p><p>“You know not to say the name,” Azura says, measured, approvingly. “Good.” She looks around at them. Xander has the impression — besides the déjà vu — that there is something older, something more than just her, looking on through those wild-luminous eyes. “Good. The king of untouched things, then. Yes? Not like us, but <em>of</em> us. A long, long time ago, those who loved the world but had lost the wager of the ships and the invaders could not bear to leave it; so they went under it, instead. That is where we are.”</p><p>“The people of the hills.” Ryoma doesn’t say it as a question. He steps closer to Xander, not so close as to crowd but just enough that their hands may touch, that some little warmth may cross between them. </p><p>Azura nods. Her hair shifts, pours over her shoulder as a waterfall. “The hills were built,” she says. “And the world is everywhere. And that one came with us, because there was no where else to go for wild relics. And he was with us for years and years, and our children were his children.” Now Xander is sure it is not only Azura talking. Some impulse has him reaching back over his shoulder, grazing Siegfried’s hilt, fingering the shine-smooth stone in the hilt; and as he does it’s like a veil drawn aside in the air, everything crisper for its absence, and he sees a woman leaning over Azura’s shoulder. They look alike, the girl and the woman, although the woman’s hair is chopped short, ice instead of water. The gold of their eyes is the same, and her hand rests over Azura’s, and when Azura opens her mouth to speak the woman is the one who talks.</p><p>Ah. This is Arete, Xander thinks. What she is, why she is this way, he doesn’t know — but she is there. And she sees him, too, judging by the way her head turns toward him for several moments before she rests her chin on her daughter’s shoulder again. </p><p>He will wait for Azura’s explanation of the state of things; and then he will inquire after what happened to the two of them.</p><p>He doesn’t let go of Siegfried.</p><p>“The world changed,” Azura says simply. She strokes her free hand through the air as if painting. “It always changes. Humans kept shaping it. Some of us slipped out into the world again. Not where we had left from — never there, we had promised — but the other places. We wanted to see. Some of us stayed. Some of us came back. The world we had here began to grow smaller, as the people grew fewer and the humans changed their part of it. Day by day the wild frontier shrank; and then it was gone. It was as that happened he began to sleep more and more, and during the waking times he was not who he was. Feral and frantic, uncaring friend from foe. My grandfather-great-grandfather—“ She breaks off there to frown, jarred by the differential in who’s speaking. Xander watches Arete stroke her hair and murmur softly until Azura is peaceful again, until the two of them are synchronized again. “Many of those who came before died that way. I wonder if it was just — death throes. <em>That one</em> was a long time living; it stands that he should be a long time dying.”</p><p>“How long ago?” Takumi speaks up. He’s remained standing, shifting uncomfortably, and not bothering to hide that he doesn’t like where they are or what’s going on. Xander’s eye is drawn briefly by the glow at his wrist, made stark by Siegfried; there is something shifting and subtle there, so near to invisible that even like this Xander can’t quite see it. “Decades, centuries?”</p><p>Azura tilts her head first to one side, then the other. Xander watches Arete do the same thing, nearly at the same time, wonders where the gesture originates. “A hundred years ago, your mother’s father was the one who made him sleep for good. Around the turn of the twentieth century.”</p><p>“Ah,” Camilla says. “Industrialization and mass production. So that one is— not of the, ah, lords and ladies. What would you call him? A spirit? A god?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Azura says, without deigning to specify which one of those she’s accepting. </p><p>Corrin raises her hand, doesn’t immediately speak. There’s a silence while Azura stares at her, bemused. Arete lifts her hand from Azura’s and points, amusement turning cold features into something else for some few moments. Eventually Azura mimics the gesture, pointing to Corrin’s hand, herself clearly confused about the whole thing. </p><p>Close enough. Corrin puts her hand back down and smiles hesitantly. “Um, Mikoto— Mother— said he was my father. If he’s been asleep, how does that work?”</p><p>“Your mother always liked to swim,” Azura says dreamily. The logic doesn’t immediately follow. Xander watches Arete consider, one hand over Azura’s ear, before leaning in to murmur to Azura. “He dreams in our world. They met like that, between places, where borders between land and sea, waking and sleeping, are thin. One thing led to another.”</p><p>“Oh,” Corrin says, and goes faintly red. “Um. That’s enough information, thank you.”</p><p>Xander hears soft laughter in strange dual layers. “Of course,” Azura and Arete say. “So, to catch you up. As he slept, more and more of us left. The realest parts were where he was, you know? The further places of our lands grew thin and twisted, and everything became smaller, and less. One by one we either became part of the land, as we were when we began, or took our chances with the humans. We were among the last — we loved it too much, my sister and I.”</p><p>“Your sister?” Camilla puts in, clearly frowning. </p><p>Azura tilts her head. “Our family,” she says. “We did not want to leave. And your mother had her love of the water. But the dreams that were here grew worse. When one attacked your mother, we knew it was time to flee. You were only just born, had barely breathed the air of this world, but there was so little left to us... we went. Together, at first; but it was clear soon that the wild had followed us, in its ways. Vines that split the earth when we stepped outside, waters that grew boisterous and grabbing as we came near. We split up, sought places of power, places where who we were could be hidden...”</p><p>Ryoma turns his head toward Xander, a query on his face. “Arete,” Xander murmurs, the simplest answer; and Ryoma’s face clears, as does that of Camilla beyond him. </p><p>“Your mother hid herself with promises,” Arete says, through Azura. “A changed name and an oath is as good as a shield. But one may also hide in the shadow of other powers.”</p><p>“Our father.” Xander doesn’t have to ask to know that one. He knows Garon was brighter, once. That memory still stays with him, and he can clearly imagine Arete on the run, taking shelter in that. She would have something Garon had wanted, and Garon had what she needed. Their marriage, then, had been convenience. A mercenary transaction.</p><p>Xander can’t even tell if that comforts him. He can’t remember Arete’s presence in their life enough to tell if she had appeared before or after his mother died.</p><p>“Yes,” Azura says. She lets one leg dangle over the edge of the wall, swinging back and forth. “He overstepped. It was a mutually beneficial relationship for a little while, but he wanted something.”</p><p>Convulsively Xander’s hand presses against the gem in Siegfried’s hilt, so hard he’s sure the imprint of it will be left in his palm. He wants to be surprised by this — by the sinking-in truth that whatever is wrong with Arete, it was almost certainly caused by his father — but he can’t be. It’s just dull edges and truths to which he has to resign himself. “Power, of some kind,” he says, still without questioning.</p><p>Azura nods in time with the figure of Arete over her shoulder. “He asked for it, first,” she says. “And then took from her; but he got more than he wanted. A curse for thievery, and a curse for the lust after what was not his. But it took all she was from Mother, too. Almost all.” This, Xander notes belatedly, is all Azura, more clear and less distant than she’s been through her explanation all along. “I managed to bring her home, barely. This was all that was left, these ruins by the lake, but it was home, and more of us than the world of humans. Recently— Mother changed. She’s been able to wake up, sometimes. Not always. She slept like he did, but now...” Azura bites her lip. It’s a very Corrin gesture, Xander notes. “I was alone for so long. I dreamed of Mother, that was all. One person isn’t a people. Two is. The magic that was put on <em>that one</em> wore off while we were gone, and he was asleep still only because there was nothing for him; but now there <em>is</em>. He heard a name called, and his people are here, and he wakes.”</p><p>“Mother was always very sure that no one should say the names of her people,” Ryoma says quietly. “And we had avoided it until very recently.” </p><p>“Yes,” Azura says. “We know. We heard our line called to. <em>Daughters of the line of N—</em> no more.”</p><p>Camilla lets her breath out between her teeth in a slow hiss. “All right,” she says. “I appreciate the history lesson, and how we got into this mess. How do we fix it? Your — wild thing — has our brother, and we want him back. Do you know how to get to him?”</p><p>For the first time Xander sees Arete separate from Azura, drift over as something like a ghost to brush Camilla’s hair. Azura watches. “The sea is the last of the untouched places,” Arete says, in a voice not unlike the breeze; and it’s several moments after that when Azura says the same words. The echo’s getting jarring. Gingerly Xander lets go of Siegfried’s hilt. Arete fades to a shadow, a suggestion of a wind and a shiver in the air. </p><p>He can’t decide whether seeing her or not seeing her is more unsettling.</p><p>“No offense, but that doesn’t tell us much,” Takumi says, sounding distinctly unfriendly. “Also, none of us can breathe underwater.”</p><p>Azura turns her head to the side. Xander recognizes the listening gesture now that he knows what’s going on with Arete and Azura, holds his breath and hears the wind stir. Azura’s answer is much delayed. “I can take you,” she says. “Corrin won’t have any trouble. The waters are of this world, after all. The rest of you...”</p><p>“We aren’t staying here.” Ryoma’s firm about that, and his hand catches Xander’s again, tightens for just a moment. “Corrin isn’t going alone.”</p><p>“Um,” Azura says, and stalls out. Her eyes focus up, sharpening on the present people instead of her mother. “I don’t know how...” She looks from side to side, bites her lip again. “I mean— that one wants Corrin, I think. I don’t know if we would ever leave. But I don’t know how to bring you with us, either.”</p><p>Camilla stands up then, stretches her arms out, and goes to investigate the brick oven at the far side of the main room. “I think I can do something about that,” she says. “I’ll need help, but it should be possible.” </p><p>Azura hops down off the wall, follows Camilla over and peers around her wide-eyed; and then Corrin goes after her too, and Elise rouses to look in, a row of younger sisters like ducklings all curious about the same thing. Despite all the seriousness Xander laughs softly, leans against Ryoma’s shoulder. Camilla will have things well in hand.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Eyyyyy look who finally showed up.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0055"><h2>55. the smith and the silver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All of their sisters wind up conferring over the old brick oven. Ryoma doesn’t know for sure if Hinoka has anything material to add, but she’s insistent on being involved anyway, and Ryoma’s not about to question it. Xander moves to step outside — if Ryoma has to guess, it’s to check on the horses. </p><p>“Careful outside,” Azura says, without looking their way. She has a sing-song, slightly off way about her speech even when she’s not... channeling her mother, or whatever it was she was doing earlier. “Thresholds bar the wild.”</p><p>Xander’s face crimps very slightly. “The other houses?” he asks. </p><p>“If they become homes.” Azura crouches down to the base of the oven. It ignites, blue and flickering, without her needing to do anything more than look at it. </p><p>“Kagero and Saizo are outside keeping watch.” Ryoma fills this in as Xander moves for the door, almost certainly to check on them. “Will four horses fit inside?”</p><p>“Ummm,” Azura says, long and drawn out. “No. If you tether them right they’re part of the house, though. Livestock rules. I think?” </p><p>Ryoma makes a start at dredging up what he remembers of hospitality traditions. He’ll go with Xander. He’s worried, anyway; some of the looks on Xander’s face while Azura was explaining...</p><p>It’s really not the time to crawl into a soft den and nap in the comfort of loved ones. They aren’t nearly done yet; they’re just beginning. Still, there is some instinct that yearns for it. </p><p>“Ah ah ah.” Camilla bounces upright and comes to intercept them before they go, hand outstretched, curls bouncing. “Xander, if you’re carrying any gifts from me, I need them.” </p><p>Xander looks blankly at her. Camilla wiggles her fingers in beckoning. “Earring, anything else?” </p><p>He reaches for his ear, finds nothing there; reaches into his chest pocket instead and finds it, a delicate thing of gold wire and leaf which he presses into her palm with some visible reluctance. “I don’t think I wore anything else,” he says then. There are still hitches in his speech every so often, but he speaks with purpose. “I didn’t want to lose anything.”</p><p>“Oh, Xander.” Camilla leans up to kiss his cheek. “You’re sweet, but I make them to be worn. It’s all right, this will do. Ryoma— no, of course, you wouldn’t have any jewelry on you.”</p><p>Ryoma appreciates that she remembered that. None of them really go in for extensive jewelry — sometimes long necklaces that will accommodate a wolf’s neck, but little more than that. Camilla pats Ryoma’s shoulder as she moves back to the oven. “We’ll work this out. Take care of the horses.”</p><p>Xander steps out the door, and Ryoma follows.</p><p>Kagero is sitting sentry by the door, legs folded in a way that looks as though she’ll be able to rush to her feet on a moment’s notice. A reddish wolf is curled beside her, tail over his nose. He rouses as they come out, sniffs the air and looks between the two of them, then flips his tail and trots off to circle the building. “Saizo’s been scouting,” Kagero supplies shortly. “Not far, just defensively. Everything is strange here, but there haven’t been any significant changes from the baseline we’ve learned.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Ryoma says. “I appreciate your efforts.”</p><p>She nods shortly, settles again.</p><p>The horses are secured — not to a tree, in deference of everyone’s misgivings about them — but to a post that was once part of one of the nearby houses. Ryoma trails Xander toward them, waits at the remove of a few feet while Xander checks in with each of the horses individually, murmuring soft nothings to them and stroking necks and sides. The elegant black mare who seems most <em>his </em>spends a while with her head pressed into his chest.</p><p>Instinct still doesn’t much like the horses. Ryoma breathes in the scent of them, so long associated with fear, and notes every appreciable thing about this moment, from the sun to the fresh breeze to Xander’s presence. He may never <em>like</em> them, per se, but they’re important to Xander. </p><p>It’s a little while before Xander turns back to Ryoma. “What she said. Near the house?” </p><p>Ryoma lifts his shoulders. “If they’re stabled under... Arete and Azura’s hospitality, then they’re part of the household, which I think should be enough; but there aren’t really facilities for it.”</p><p>“Hm.” Xander looks past Ryoma, regarding that one functional house. Ryoma turns to give it the same consideration — it’s not very big. The eaves overhang the ground surrounding by a few feet, if that. “What if... a secure point inside?”</p><p>Ryoma takes a moment to get his head around the idea of it, finally processes when his gaze lights on the shuttered window with the cloth under it. The long lead rein could be passed through, perhaps. “I wonder if there was a garden,” he says aloud, and moves back that way. Saizo comes around the house as he does, paces over to sniff curiously at what Ryoma’s doing. Under the kitchen window would seem like a logical place for it... and sure enough, now that Ryoma’s looking for it, he finds stones and imprints of stones that once formed a loose boundary. Underneath overgrowth of monstrous dandelions and misshapen queen-anne’s-lace, there are gourds long since gone to seed that might once have been grown for food, old sticks planted straight in the ground as if to mark where plants were. </p><p>Four horses in one kitchen garden might be a bit of a tight fit, but Ryoma suspects it’s the best they can do under the circumstances. </p><p>The front door opens and Elise skips out, tailed by a grouchy-looking Hinoka, flexing her wrists and cracking her knuckles at odds with the pretty yukata she’s still wearing. Elise waves brightly at Ryoma. “We need extra fuel, but we’re not sure about the trees still,” she says. “Have you seen anything we could use? Dead wood, maybe?” </p><p>“If there are any remaining wood portions of the other houses.” Ryoma bends, snags the wooden stakes he saw earlier, offers them out. “And these.” Elise moves near enough to take them with a quick nod of thanks.</p><p>Saizo pads around the corner, sniffs at her, and then turns to pace a few steps away and flips his tail. Elise looks from him back to Hinoka; Hinoka nods. “Saizo probably found something, let’s check it out.”</p><p>Ryoma watches them go with a certain amount of fondness. He’s impressed Camilla let Elise out of her sight, even with Brynhildr clutched to her chest. Perhaps it’s simply the trust born of necessity, but all the same it’s good to see them getting along. They turn a corner, and then Ryoma heads back to Xander. “I think this will do. It used to be a garden, so it’s the best we’ll get for having been part of the house.”</p><p>Xander turns away from the horse to smile at Ryoma — it’s small but deep, and the sense of a sunrise passes warmth all through Ryoma. He doesn’t even think it’s anything to do with Xander’s scent, any more. </p><p>It’s desperately not the time to ponder that. Ryoma shows Xander what he means, stays clear as Xander navigates the horses over and then himself ducks inside. He draws a few curious looks from the women as he pulls one of the shutters open, but no one comments, and Ryoma takes the lead line Xander passes through and only then glances around. “...Ah, is there some place we can tether this?”</p><p>Azura straightens up and steps away from the oven, moving over with outstretched hands. “Here,” she says, beckoning, and Ryoma puts the lead into her hands. Azura smiles distantly at him, in the odd way she has. “Your steeds are under our roof while you are our guests.” And she knots the line loosely around one of the antler-fixtures on the near wall. </p><p>The horse foremost in the line puts her nose through the window, inquisitive. Ryoma flinches back startled despite himself, but Azura nudges past him to pet the offered nose and laugh quietly. “She’s sweet.”</p><p>Ryoma takes another quick look around — Camilla has pulled her hair up and back, and there’s a heat in the air that wasn’t there before, a sharp-burning smell accompanied by the faintest hint of blood. The woman in the back... no, she hasn’t moved, despite the sharp scent, but Ryoma suspects she’s still watching. Takumi’s lingering hunkered down near the door, probably again because of the scent. </p><p>He glances up when Ryoma comes over. “All right?” Takumi asks.</p><p>It can mean a myriad of things. “Enough,” Ryoma says. It’s enough for now. He puts his hand on Takumi’s shoulder for a moment. “You?”</p><p>Takumi rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. “I don’t like it here,” he says quietly. “Everything’s strange, and they’re the strangest of all. I don’t trust them. But they’re all we have, right?”</p><p>Ryoma nods. “It’s all we have, this,” he says. “We can’t leave Leo here.” Even if it wasn’t for Xander’s sake— prickly, sharp-eyed Leo has grown on Ryoma a little. And no one deserves to be taken from their home and family and simply left.</p><p>Takumi’s nod, sharp and jerky as it is, tells Ryoma that he feels much the same way. “I’ll stay suspicious, if it’s all the same to you,” he says, eyes not on the business going on with the oven but on the still form in the back of the house. </p><p>“That’s likely for the best.” Ryoma squeezes his shoulder and then gets up again, to see what’s taking Xander with the horses, and perhaps, if he’s lucky, to steal a moment or two even in the midst of all this.</p><p>There’s no obvious difficulties, fortunately, just Xander going over all of the tack, soothing each horse in turn and making sure they have what they need, have the room even secured to move or put their heads down. One is already lipping curiously at the remnants of the garden. At the sound of footsteps Xander turns his head back for a moment to see Ryoma, smiles again, and looks down. “All’s well,” Xander says, half to the horses. </p><p>“Good.” Ryoma waits politely at the edge of the garden. That’s a lot of horse, as much as he’s trying. For the moment he just — watches. Xander’s hands are broad and deft, and Ryoma wants very much to hold them, but he can settle for this appreciation from a distance. For now. He has a very functional imagination. </p><p>Xander moves on to the lovely black horse again, face hidden as he checks and re-checks her. Ryoma changes his regard to the broad, solid set of Xander’s shoulders, the way the sword sets against his back, the movement of muscles under everything as Xander leans and straightens. Eventually Ryoma closes his eyes for several moments.</p><p>“Hi again,” Elise chirps behind him, passing by. Hinoka, helpfully, thumps Ryoma on the shoulder as she passes. The sound of wood clunking against wood suggests to Ryoma they’ve found <em>something</em> usable, whatever it is.</p><p>When Ryoma’s recovered from Hinoka’s help, Xander’s looking at him, something warm in his eyes. Ryoma bites the inside of his cheek, catches his breath, and holds out his hand. </p><p>Gravely Xander puts his hand in Ryoma’s, steps out of the garden and away from the horses, and with Ryoma standing unmoving it puts Xander neatly in the circle of Ryoma’s arms. It’s not unintentional, judging by the way Xander negotiates setting his other hand at the small of Ryoma’s back, brings them close and warming.</p><p>Impossible to tell from there, who leans against whom. Ryoma would have sworn he was the one leaning into Xander, but somehow he has the sense that he’s bearing Xander up in the meanwhile, and in the end it doesn’t matter — like this they can hold each other up. There’s a fine tension all through Xander, one that’s easier to feel than see. Ryoma sets his head on that broad shoulder and breathes his scent in.</p><p>He’s not delirious with it. Still sunlight and home, cedar and rich earth, all the perfect things to turn Ryoma’s head and make him seek this out, time and time again— but he has his head. He’s not about to do anything foolish. Yet, anyway. Maybe the scent-bond has allowances for dangerous situations; or perhaps Ryoma’s gotten used to it.</p><p>Does it matter, really, which of those cases it is? </p><p>“I don’t remember them at all.” Xander’s voice is a quiet rumble in his chest, nearly more felt than heard at first, more so for Ryoma not expecting it. “Leo mentioned. Arete had been doing something— like your mother. But he and Camilla kept <em>something</em>.” Now Ryoma hears the frustration, low and coiled under everything else. “I can’t tell how much I’ve forgotten. Or just. Not seen.” There’s a long, shaky exhalation; no more words follow immediately. </p><p>Ryoma turns over these pieces that he’s been offered, over and over again in his head with thoughts and wondering. How hard it had been for Xander to reach the tipping point of any conclusions about the existence of magical things, about his father; the lingering reminder that at least part of the not-seeing had been Xander himself, his own innate abilities turned inward against himself with the need to not see.</p><p>But what is there to be <em>done</em> about any of that? Even with Xander’s father dead, the impact he’s left is outsized. Years and years of habits aren’t going to go away just like that. Ryoma suspects Xander is holding things together as well as he is because his siblings are at risk. After all this... </p><p>Ryoma will be all the support he can, and try not to take anything too personally. </p><p>“Didn’t Azura say your father had forbidden you to have anything to do with them?” Ryoma says at length, having picked it out of the immediate past. It had seemed only a little strangeness at first, but now he’s wondering about it again.</p><p>“Mm.” A quiet noise of agreement, and then nothing but warmth and breath for several moments longer. “It makes me think there was... something worth forbidding.” </p><p>Given that Xander’s father had apparently gone out of his way to deny Xander any and all positive relationships outside his immediate family, Ryoma both agrees and disagrees. “It might have been as simple as friendship,” he says. “And— remember that Arete made it hard to remember them, too. Even if you tended to press things down, you didn’t forget entirely on your own, right?”</p><p>“Hm.” Xander breathes out a wry chuckle, something not entirely happy that brushes Ryoma’s ear. “I suppose not. It’s... not much of a comfort.”</p><p>Ryoma had hoped it might be better than nothing, at least. He tightens the arm he has around Xander, squeezes their linked hands in quiet sympathy. There’s little else he has to offer at this point — only himself. </p><p>Not enough, surely, but something. </p><p>They stay there for a while. Ryoma couldn’t say how long. The sounds from inside the house are fire crackling, heat sizzling, a range of female voices, blurred by the muffling of wood and the attention Ryoma’s paying to Xander’s breath and heartbeat. Warmth sinks in, something bone-deep and reassuring, and Ryoma <em>knows</em> it is foolish to relax right now, but all the same it’s easy to, just staying like this — heart to heart, hand in hand, Xander’s head resting against his with the easy assurance of someone who has learned he is welcome. It feels more intimate than any lesser clothed options, and Ryoma could not be gladder in the moment.</p><p>The easy peace is rather a little ruined when Hinoka comes out of the house to prod Ryoma in the small of the back with a stick, but such is the price he pays for having loving siblings in hostile territory. “Hey, come on,” she says. “Camilla’s got things.”</p><p>Ryoma bites his tongue on something a little sarcastic and instead only sighs as he lifts his head, steps back from Xander. Hands are the last things to part, lingering with as many little finger-brushes as Ryoma thinks he can get away with, and the intent look on Xander’s face is entirely worth the exasperated noise Hinoka makes as she heads back inside. </p><p>Xander pauses to check in on the horses one last time — they’re fine — and they head back inside one after the other. Saizo remains curled just at the door, Kagero on the other side. “We can hear well enough from just here,” Kagero says for Ryoma’s querying look. “It’s better to have the forewarning if something happens.”</p><p>She’s not wrong. Ryoma nods to her, and steps inside.</p><p>The sudden heat tells the story of the forging they’ve been doing in brief. Ryoma misses a step as the close air seems to hit him in the face. That <em>would</em> explain why Hinoka’s sleeves were tied up, and in retrospect he’s not surprised to see all of the women and Takumi with rolled-up sleeves and tied-back hair, varying with sheens of sweat and soot. Azura in particular looks vibrant with it, wildly bright-eyed and the waterfall of her hair tamed to something more like a rolling stream. </p><p>Camilla lifts a hand to greet them, weariness in every motion. “I hope we didn’t interrupt anything,” she says sweetly. Hinoka chokes on a laugh as she tries to stifle it. </p><p>“...it’s fine,” Xander says, a little blankly. Ryoma eyes Hinoka; she eyes him back in a way that would definitely devolve into play-fighting if they were anywhere else, anywhen else, and even now he catches her stance shifting, feet apart and shoulders dropping as if to lean forward.</p><p>Ryoma clears his throat instead, straightens up to send a very clear postural message. Hinoka blows a disappointed breath out and folds her arms. “We were just talking,” he says. Hinoka’s eyebrows go up, which Ryoma ignores. It <em>was</em> talking. ...Among other things. “What have you made?”</p><p>Camilla holds out her other hand, smeared with black across the fingers and up her forearm. In her palm is an assortment of rings somewhere between silver and gold, shining differently depending on which way Ryoma tilts his head — like the shimmer across a bubble, he finds himself thinking. “I reclaimed some power and forged what I could into modified safe-travel talismans,” she explains, tossing the rings very gently in her palm so they chime together. “We’ll have to be careful when we return, since only Leo will have a charm to hide his nature, but this matters more now.” </p><p>At least she says <em>when</em>. Ryoma leans in, trying to count the shifting rings — she keeps moving them, but he thinks there are fewer there than there are people. “You say safe-travel,” he says. “Not something of passage through water?”</p><p>She folds her fingers over the rings for a moment or two, then offers one to him, pinched between thumb and forefinger with the rest held loosely in her closed fist. “It’s focused on water,” she explains. Ryoma holds out his hand; Camilla drops the ring into his palm. “Azura – and her blood – helped with that, and Takumi to bring wind into it as well. But the basic design I modified it from is about clearing the way and opening safe passage. It may bring air with you, or part the water around you, or help you breathe it. I don’t know exactly, yet.” Her expression looks pinched for a moment before it smooths out into a gentle smile, one Ryoma rather thinks is a practiced shield. “And it won’t be infinite.”</p><p>Ryoma presses the ring between his fingers. It’s cool to the touch, and it doesn’t seem to warm with the heat of his skin. He almost thinks something in the metal shifts... “You speak of <em>you</em> as if you aren’t coming with us.” </p><p>Camilla clears her throat delicately. “I’ve rather tired myself out,” she says. “And used up all the stores I had, besides.” Her eye fixed on Ryoma is sharp though her smile remains apparently gentle enough. “But you’ll look after my precious siblings for me, won’t you?”</p><p>How could he do anything else? Ryoma bows his head in assent, and when Camilla moves away to offer rings to the others, he tries the one she’s handed to him on each finger until he finds one that fits. It winds up being left middle finger rather than the next one over, which is probably for the best. There are certain implications Ryoma just isn’t equipped to handle at the same time as everything else. </p><p>Notably, Camilla does not pass rings off to Azura or Corrin — she stops for Elise, Xander, Hinoka, Sakura, and Takumi. Corrin watches with covetous eyes, which doesn’t go unnoticed — Camilla stops to ruffle her hair, to cup her cheek and kiss her forehead. “There, there. It’s only because you don’t need it. I’ll make you something better another time, darling.”</p><p>Immediately Corrin tries to pretend she <em>wasn’t</em> pouting. Ryoma looks away, fingertips pressed to the cool band of the ring, and mostly succeeds at not thinking of what could have been.</p><p>They’re here now. It has to be enough.</p><p>“I’ll be staying here, with Kagero and Saizo,” Camilla says, putting on a false air of brightness. “We’ll look after — Arete, here, while Azura is with the rest of you. If anyone’s hungry, there should be some additional snacks in the saddlebags; but other than that, there’s no reason to delay. Every moment we’re here, after all, Leo is <em>there</em>.”</p><p>“Ah,” Sakura says, quite abruptly, and holds out her ring. “You’ll need one for him, too, won’t you?”</p><p>“—A good thought.” Camilla leans over for it, takes it from her hand and presses it into Xander’s. “And <em>that</em> is how tired I am, and why I’m staying here.” She smiles more genuinely now. “And you as well, hm?”</p><p>Sakura nods for this, if reluctantly. “I know… you’d rather I was safe,” she says, in Ryoma’s direction. “This is the best I can do for that. Right?”</p><p>She’s right, though the instinct to have her under his nose is a tempting one. Ryoma takes a breath and nods as Xander slips the ring carefully into his pocket. “It will have to be enough.”</p><p>There’s an array of sober, determined faces. Even Hinoka, whose variant includes wrinkling her nose at the thought of his scent, looks as determined as she ever is. “I almost wish it was the woods after all,” she says. “Then at least we could <em>run</em>. Camilla’s charm isn’t going to make us all selkies, and we’ll have to stay human-shaped until we get where we’re going.” </p><p>A note occurs to Ryoma; he glances over at Camilla again. “Will they have sufficient effect if we string them on something and wear that?”</p><p>She’s shaking her head nearly before he finishes the question. “I’m very good, but not <em>that</em> good. Maximize skin contact at all times, or I can’t guarantee anything.”</p><p>“And I’m too new to Fujin’s power to do... much.” The admission sounds like Takumi’s squeezing it out of a very stubborn sponge; it grits between his teeth with frustration. “We talked about the options. Unfortunately.”</p><p>Camilla leans over long to ruffle his hair, too, and Takumi squawks and backs away. </p><p>It is not Ryoma’s favorite of limitations, but they will make do. He is more than capable of making the best of a bad situation. He lets his breath out slow and careful, puts on a good face for the younger of his siblings. It’s strained around the eyes, he knows. He’s trying his best. “We’ll eat what’s left of what we brought,” he says, “and then we’ll go.” In all the rest he finds nothing but agreement.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0056"><h2>56. remain untouched</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are little maintenances to be done — the snacks for the wolves, Ryoma pausing to speak with Saizo and Kagero about the fact of being left behind, of looking after Arete while the others are gone. Xander doesn’t precisely mean to <em>eavesdrop</em>, but he hears a low rumbling from Saizo, one he would have been concerned by if not for Ryoma’s completely unconcerned reaction. Perhaps it’s like a human grumbling, in this case. Kagero seems to take it better, with something arch about not drowning.</p><p>Even with all the tiny mundanities and logistics of getting seven people moving in the same direction, it’s still startlingly soon that they’re all standing beside the reed-choked, algae-smothered water. The majority of the wolves, Xander notes, wear varying looks of disapproval, likely because the rings restrict them to human form. </p><p>Corrin hunkers down by the water, where the ground grows muddy and squishing — Xander notices belatedly that she’s misplaced her shoes. That’s probably not accidental. She pats the water’s surface gingerly. “Is this the <em>right</em> water?” </p><p>“It’s the water that there is.” Azura crouches down beside her, golden eyes luminous in the light, her expression otherwise blank like she doesn’t understand the question.</p><p>“Well,” Corrin says. “Yes. It is. It’s just, it looks kind of like this is a lake? And earlier you, or your mother, or both of you I guess, were talking about the sea? And this water is... kind of tangled up.” She looks up, across the water instead of down at it, and Xander follows her gaze. In the distance it’s hard to tell what there is. Shadows, perhaps; fog, perhaps. Like someone’s used a fog machine to obscure the back curtain of a stage, trying to give the impression there’s more than there is. There might be surrounding mountains. There might be glaciers, or forests, or water. </p><p>Xander can’t honestly tell, and when he reaches back for Siegfried, feeling out the shape of the stone in the hilt again, it doesn’t help all that much. There’s still the sense of a veil peeling back, of the world turning crisper and more vivid, but it doesn’t clear the fuzziness of the distance. If anything Xander starts to think he sees skyscrapers alongside redwoods, spires that might be stone or might be smoke, and the dissonance jars him enough that for now he opts to let go of the sword.</p><p>“It’s the water,” Azura repeats patiently. She trails her fingers in it, leaving swirls of something darker and purer where the touch shifts aside the choking green. “That’s all there <em>is</em>. Once it was different. Mother says there was more than this. Now this is all of it, so everything that <em>was</em> any other water is also this water.” </p><p>By the sounds of that, looking down at the water would be as jarring as looking at the distance. Xander doesn’t reach for Siegfried again, only listens to the faint reassuring hum of it against his back. He isn’t sure if it’ll be all right in the water — it already looks fragile enough when he isn’t holding it — but if there is a magic in it that has kept the truth of it intact through everything before, then that with Camilla’s charm, cool on his finger, is almost sure to be sufficient.</p><p>Elise doesn’t seem concerned about Brynhildr at all, though she holds it tight to her chest as she has been for most of this while, and books are the more traditionally vulnerable to water. Perhaps it’s communicated something to her. Perhaps she just hasn’t thought about it.  Perhaps, most likely, it’s enough more than a book that worrying is foolish.</p><p>Corrin puts her entire hand down into the water, picks it up again to sniff carefully, then lick. She makes a face right after. “It’s <em>salty</em>.”</p><p>“The water is the water,” Azura repeats, more impatiently than before. “Do you feel it as part of you?”</p><p>“Um.” Corrin’s eyes go wide with worry, the look of <em>what do you mean we had homework</em>. “Maybe?”</p><p>Azura regards her for a long moment, then stands up, fabric swishing. She bounces on the spot a few times, then abruptly leaps, beyond the swampy border of land and water, out where the algae begins to thin. Dark water splashes up where she vanishes. Corrin yelps, lunging up and a few steps out into the water after her; but she stops before she gets very far. “Azura!”</p><p>There are bubbles, quick and bursting on the surface, and then Azura lifts her head out of the water. “You’re of this world,” she says, “so you’re part of it, and it’s part of you. Here, come on.”</p><p>Corrin looks back over her shoulder, to Xander first before her gaze skips across the rest of her siblings, all these people who would go anywhere for her sake. “Are you <em>sure</em>?” she says.</p><p>Perhaps Xander doesn’t always see clearly; but if nothing else, he can recognize his sister asking for help, even if it’s not in as many words. He won’t deny the water, dark where it isn’t green, gives him misgivings of his own — but it isn’t about him. It’s about Corrin, and it’s about Leo, and perhaps some about Azura, who he must once have liked well enough to risk his father’s displeasure for. </p><p>And somewhere behind him there’s Ryoma, and Xander is more certain by the day: if he needs to lean on another in order to move forward, he can lean on Ryoma. Whatever else it is, that’s enough for now.</p><p>He rubs his fingers across the cool silvery band and takes a deep breath. One step, then another. The ground gives and slips with the squishiness of mud, and the chill of the water presses against his boots, then against his shins. The presence of it feels strange somehow — wet but not consuming. If it were possible to be submerged without being wet, this is what it might feel like.</p><p>And behind that, there’s something like a question in the water as it reaches higher, as Xander takes another few steps to stand next to Corrin. That impression flickers, there and gone again like a fleeting fancy, only the heavy increasing awareness of Siegfried pressed against his back to tell Xander that there might be something more to it than his being unsettled. </p><p>He focuses on Corrin, on offering her a smile, on the way she brightens with reassurance and moves out toward Azura. “I don’t know,” Corrin says, even though she puts her hand in Azura’s. “I mean, I can feel that it’s there, obviously, and it’s— it’s not cold? Or, I mean, it is, but that doesn’t <em>matter, </em>you know?”</p><p>“I know.” Azura folds her fingers around Corrin’s with a solemn agreement. “It’s cold, but that’s part of you, too.”</p><p>Corrin scrunches up her face. “Are you <em>sure</em> I’ll be able to breathe?”</p><p>“Did you swim much, in the human world?” Azura asks by way of answer. She tilts her head to the side, quizzical. “Have you ever <em>tried?</em>”</p><p>“...um,” Corrin says distantly, and then Azura disappears beneath the water again. Her hand is still in Corrin’s. Corrin looks down, bites her lip — it looks like she considers the options, is sneaking up on the idea of following — </p><p>— and then Azura’s grip tightens and pulls, and Corrin yelps once before vanishing under the water in a wild splash. There’s swearing from the shore a scarce few feet behind Xander, and Hinoka lunges out through the reeds, the sound of the parting water loud and raucous. She makes it past Xander, to where the water comes up to her chest — looks this way and that, snarls wordlessly, finally takes a huge breath of her own and ducks down. </p><p>That action breaks the hesitancy all of the rest had in their way. Xander follows her, chill pressing up past his waist to his chest, green algae leaving traces on his clothes and skin as he goes. He reaches about where Azura and Corrin were, still not himself submerged through the ground beneath feels more and more likely to slip away, and the weight of Siegfried something impossible to ignore with how it presses against him, an awareness at the edge of every thought and perception. He feels around blindly, staring at bubbles and ripples with an increasing urgency all pounding under his ribs.</p><p>Ryoma brushes past him, shoulder to shoulder, a hint of warmth passing in haste, and dives after as if there is nothing else to do in the world. Behind them someone who sounds like Takumi swears.</p><p>What else can Xander do but follow? </p><p>He gulps at air despite that he trusts his sister’s work in theory; he shifts his arms to part the water; for once in his life, he keeps his eyes <em>open</em>.</p><p>At first all is darkness, chill and encompassing. Then, as if it has only just now occurred to the part of him that isn’t human, Xander lights up, golden under his skin. It’s a soft radiance, a candle rather than a beacon, but it stretches far enough to limn those alongside him in the same gold. His eyes dart — he finds Corrin, a little over and a little deeper down, and silhouetted in the faint dwindling shafts of the golden light. Her silver curls drift behind her like a living thing, stirred by currents; and beside her, holding her hand but clearly not struggling, is Azura, the waterfall of her hair gone all dark and shifting like that around them, till she barely stands out at all. </p><p>Corrin waves up at him — it looks like she tries to say something, but all that comes out is a bubble. She frowns and makes a cross face, all scrunched up and trying too hard to actually be intimidating, and just like that everything is normal again.</p><p>As normal as this gets.</p><p>Hinoka overshot, it looks like. She’s coming back toward them at speed, manages to stop in Corrin’s vicinity. She keeps rolling her shoulders like there’s something uncomfortable around her, but here she is — and ah, yes, checking Corrin over from toe to crown, with special attention to the bubbles from her mouth. Corrin squirms away from well-meaning scrutiny, drifts a little further. </p><p>Ryoma comes up from further beneath, and as that movement catches Xander’s attention he can also see distinctly the moment when Ryoma looks between sister and Xander himself, and chooses to push toward Xander. </p><p>Elise brings a little more light with her, and Takumi as well; and with some margin for error, as few of them are accustomed to long-term navigation underwater, they all drift into a loose circle. Xander and Elise are the only real sources of light. Something flickers in Corrin’s hair like scales, like fireflies caught in a net, and there’s a weary glow at Takumi’s wrist, but they’re nothing to the gentle sunlight. </p><p>Xander thinks dryly to himself that Ryoma might be able to produce some light as well, but they would very likely all regret it no more than a second or two later. And yet: Ryoma takes his hand, and Xander is unworried.</p><p>As long as he doesn’t think about breathing. He <em>can</em> — sort-of — he feels heavy chill pressing against his nose and mouth, and if he thinks about it too long he’s sure he’s going to panic for the dark and the fact of the water, a place he was never meant to be within a place he was never meant to be—</p><p>His breath comes quicker, more shallow. Ryoma squeezes his hand. Xander tries, with middling success, to focus on that feeling instead of anything else that might be happening. Every time his attention threatens to drag back to the more unsettling aspects of their current situation, he tightens his grip on Ryoma’s hand instead, treasures that warmth as purposefully as he may.</p><p>An assortment of bubbles is exchanged in varying temperaments, with further bemusement — Xander watches one sibling then another try to speak, watches Takumi’s expression change from something angry to more pensive, one hand dropping to cover the glowing wrist. Perhaps wind to carry sound? Elise hesitantly tries to open Brynhildr, but the tome in her grip won’t pry open, only shimmers very faintly. Protecting itself, perhaps. </p><p>Before Takumi can try anything, however, Azura opens her mouth; and what comes from her is not bubbles but song. </p><p>Not sweet. Too wild and fretful to be sweet. But beautiful; and, what’s more, though Xander can’t understand the words, he has an instinctive, true grasp of the sentiment under them. Come with me; come home. </p><p>Then she turns on the spot, a slick sure jackknife of a thing, and dives, and Corrin goes with her, and because of that none of them have any choice but to follow her into the darkness and the deep. </p><p>The light only goes so far, but at least it goes with them, stretching out ahead to show the way. Xander thinks more and more as they go that Azura actually <em>does</em> have her own quiet radiance, something in the flow of her hair, some mirror to the starshine caught along Corrin’s tangle of silver. It’s hard to see, nearly drowned out under the firm gold of sunlight he and Elise have brought with them, but there’s certainly something there nevertheless.</p><p>He doesn’t know how deep they go, or how long Ryoma’s hand stays in his. </p><p>In the distance there is something pale, bleach-bone-white and glittering. It seems like nothing at first, just a trick of the way their bare light reflects in silver and water; then it seems like it might be a distant bone, perhaps of some poor drifting fish. But they move closer and closer still, and whatever the thing is grows larger and larger. The darkness of the water around them is so nearly absolute that nothing on which it might sit can be seen, no ground below, no boulder or sunken ship: only this thing, looking more and more like a cavernous skeleton, big enough to swallow them all whole without all that much trouble. </p><p>The thing doesn’t move. Xander half expects it to.</p><p>The group of them moves closer — he sees a hesitancy in the way some of the others move, pauses to survey wide-eyed. It’s clear soon enough that his impression was correct: this <em>is</em> some massive skeleton, great remnant of an impossible beast, so long dead that not even rags of flesh remain. Only the bone, and if some of that were missing it would be hard to tell, anywhere beyond the vast skull and those first shapes of bones, whether shoulders or fins or paws, looming out of the dark.</p><p>The mouth of the skull gapes open, broad and encompassing. This, Xander thinks, is the worst part of it, but he’s certainly not about to <em>show</em> that he’s intimidated. Not while there are younger siblings that look to him. </p><p>Azura takes them toward the mouth. Xander is not, on the whole, surprised; there is only a low gray dread that coils in his gut, makes it known how foolish it is to walk straight into the jaws of the predator. Again he wonders if she should be trusted, if this is all some grand deception— </p><p>Siegfried is heavy against his back, still. Xander touches it gently, pausing in place to survey Azura. He doesn’t know if it will help. Perhaps it will set him at ease, to see that like before, she is only a girl with the water caught in her hair, nothing more than that. </p><p>And she is, she and Corrin both, pausing before those great jaws with their heads inclined together as though to speak softly to each other. Of all them here, it would be them, if anyone could put speech out into the water and have it understood. </p><p>Xander mislikes the thought of them in those jaws, and quickens his pace somewhat. And he realizes, before he lets go of Siegfried’s hilt again, that he’s been reluctant to look at the great skeleton while holding onto it, as if he <em>knows</em> he doesn’t like what he’ll see. His heart pounds in his chest — Xander thinks about that instead of the many issues of drawing breath — and forces his eyes up. He doesn’t want to look away from things any longer.</p><p>...after all that, it’s something nearly disappointing when the bones are just bones, when no vision of something vast and wild rises up to cover them. Xander lets go of Siegfried’s hilt, checks that it is still secure and in no danger of coming loose from his back, and then follows Corrin and Azura again.</p><p>Perhaps the impression that the vast dark sockets watch him is a false one. They are all empty and hollow, and nothing looks out from within them. Perhaps that’s enough. Perhaps that’s all there is.</p><p>Xander shivers anyway, caught between the cold and the sense of watching.</p><p>Something in the tenor of the water changes as they begin to cross the boundary into the great skull. Xander feels weightier, pulled toward the bottom, toward the bone become a floor beneath them; and somehow the water presses less chilly against him. His feet touch the ground. Ahead of him Corrin and Azura have done the same, and Corrin’s hair falls as she takes steps forward, becomes something sodden and tangled against the back of her neck. </p><p>Xander moves further and realizes the water doesn’t move as insistently against his face now. Improbably, somehow, there’s air here, as if the water can only encroach a little ways within this great beast. Behind him there are the sounds of siblings all realizing this in turn, from Takumi starting up a loud coughing fit and complaining about how that was the <em>worst</em> to Elise exhaling heavily, making relieved sounds that Brynhildr is all right. </p><p>“What <em>is </em>this?” Hinoka asks, coming up somewhere to the right of Xander’s shoulder. “This isn’t a whale. Whale skeletons don’t look like this, and they’re not... well, <em>most</em> of them aren’t this big.”</p><p>Azura turns from where she’s gone, further down the length of the skull, nearly out of the range of the light Xander and Elise still shed. She still seems to carry a waterfall with her, all blue and flowing. “It’s what was,” she says tranquilly, as if from a dream. “<em>Hic sunt dracones</em>. The places no one knows.”</p><p>Xander can’t help at all that he shivers again, though he wishes he could. Ryoma appears at his other shoulder, pressing briefly against his side — it’s achingly, perfectly simple to reach out and take hold of his hand. The warmth fairly burns in the chill that pervades the water and the air, and Xander welcomes it even to the point of near pain. Ryoma looks sidelong at him, manages a faint smile. </p><p>“They used to write that on maps, didn’t they?” Elise pipes up. “When they didn’t know what to put there?”</p><p>“Urban legend,” Takumi says dismissively. “No <em>actual</em> maps ever said anything about dragons. I think there’s like one globe that did?”</p><p>“Even so.” Corrin twists her hands together, looking over the group of them with wide and worried eyes. “It’s the sentiment that matters, right? If this is an unknown place, where no people ever mapped or explored...”</p><p><em>Here there be dragons</em>. Trite is sometimes true. Xander holds his tongue.</p><p>“Whatever it is.” Hinoka’s playing with the ring on her finger, frowning darkly. “Doesn’t matter, does it? This one’s dead. We keep going. If there’s anything else, we deal with it when we get there.”</p><p>“Mmm.” Azura nods, and turns around. She’s barefoot, Xander realizes; so is Corrin. When had that happened? Below their feet is— damp bone, sand and pebbles, and here and there some determined deep-sea weed beginning to grow. On a quick cursory look he doesn’t see anything moving or scuttling, but he’s not going to write it off as impossible. He does wish they’d wear shoes. </p><p>“Wait for us,” Takumi says, and quickens his pace to go after the girls. Xander twists around quickly, counting heads — yes, everyone is there who they brought with them, and drawing together into a closer knot. All right. If they are together, that’s something. They can support each other, this way.</p><p>Footsteps sound too loud in this shadow of a skull.</p><p>As they draw toward the boundary between skull and ribcage, where the spine draws a long vanishing line out overhead and ribs draw arches upon arches like some morbid cathedral, Xander becomes horribly conscious of the dark water all visible through the gaps. He’s not overeager to step back into it, and even with Camilla’s ring on his finger the idea of the crushing deep is one he keeps shying frightened away from, in the safety of his own mind. It’s only some scant light and a few bands of metal that presses it back.</p><p>It seems such a scarce barrier. </p><p>Xander looks down, as Azura and Corrin make that first step out under the ribs, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. There’s a sternum to bear up their weight, but it doesn’t go the full way; and between the ribs the abyss stretches on, opaque in its depth. Azura skips lightly over it on the balls of her feet, the brief passing of her steps implication that there’s <em>something</em> solid there, but Xander doesn’t want to trust himself to it. Even looking up again, focusing only on what’s ahead, he can’t unsee the infinite nothing, and his gut twists. He tightens his grip on Ryoma’s hand, fierce and perhaps a little desperate.</p><p>Ryoma squeezes back. For one step at a time, that’s enough. </p>
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<a name="section0057"><h2>57. mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma would be a great deal more sanguine about this whole thing if he knew he could shift, if the silvery band around his finger wasn’t as much binding as it is saving grace. As things stand, even clothed he feels naked. Hinoka has the same problem, if the way she’s fidgeting with her ring is anything to judge by. Ryoma expects at the first sign of danger, she’ll drop the charm and lunge four-footed and red-furred. </p><p>He hopes when she does that it's somewhere like this, and that this place isn’t dependent on Camilla’s gift of safe-passage.</p><p>Conversation dies slowly. They’re all trailed out in a narrow string down the length of the spine, in groups of two or one between them, and looking around to check in is not a gesture unique to Ryoma. </p><p>He wonders – he has to – how far they have to go yet. He would have guessed a heart would be their target, except that they’re <em>in</em> the ribcage and there doesn’t immediately seem to be anything like a heart remaining. He means to look to Xander again – instead catches movement out of the corner of his eye that isn’t any of his siblings. Up ahead...</p><p>Up ahead, out past where Azura and Corrin have paused, there’s a figure standing in the path, somewhere under the vast ribs, out over the crushing deep. Ryoma opens his mouth to inhale automatically and something familiar hits him. There’s water, of course, there’s the clinging scent of mildew that follows anything that’s ever gotten wet without properly drying out; but there’s also the scent of pine, the burn of the air after lightning strikes turned to something softer, comforting. </p><p>He might not have believed his eyes; but his nose wouldn’t lie. Not like this.</p><p>“Father,” Ryoma says, and lets go of Xander’s hand.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0058"><h2>58. charybdis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: violence, moderately graphic injury, grief, bad parental choices, revenant, pain.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xander marks the disappearance of Ryoma’s warmth from him before he hears the one word Ryoma’s said, before he realizes what Ryoma’s moving toward. Hinoka makes a choked sound somewhere nearby — Azura reaches out for Ryoma’s sleeve and Ryoma shakes her off absently, without heat or extra force, just enough to make it clear that he will be moving past her.</p><p>“<em>Come on you shitty bowstring</em>,” Takumi whispers, utterly too loud in the quiet.</p><p>No wind answers him, no stirring of power. Between them all there is stillness.</p><p>The figure that waits for them further down the spine is a man’s. He’s tall and barrel-chested, and his hair a wild runaway fall much like Ryoma’s, only worse-kept; and if Xander had been given a few extra moments he would not have needed Ryoma’s alarmingly clear “<em>Father” </em>to see the shapes of them in each other. Ryoma... looks very like Sumeragi Morimoto, after all. </p><p>Sumeragi is too pale, Xander thinks, to be living, backed up by the seaweed caught in his hair; but Ryoma doesn’t seem to have seen it, and all over again Xander finds his throat closing up, finds he doesn’t know how to call out. </p><p>Hinoka growls under her breath. “No no no no <em>no</em>.” Xander catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye, loosening the belt of her yukata, leaning forward with shoulders hunched like she’s preparing to shift, limitations on their current situation be damned. </p><p>“Ryoma,” says the figure that waits. “My son.”</p><p>“We have to go past,” Azura says to Corrin, in an undertone Xander only barely hears. “We have to. Now. Fast.”</p><p>“But Ryoma.” Corrin dithers on the spot, looking frantically front and back and around. “He’s not— what do we <em>do</em>?”</p><p>“Let us,” Elise says suddenly. She presses up next to Xander, small against his side. Automatically he drops an arm over her shoulders, and Elise tilts her head to beam up at him briefly, tiredly, before looking down again and cracking Brynhildr open. It drips black water from the edges of its pages, but the spread she opens to is clean, dry parchment. Inky vines begin to sprout from the crease of the spine, slow and tendrilling. </p><p>Ryoma has stepped up close to Sumeragi, to this image or revenant, close enough that Sumeragi sets a hand on his shoulder to draw him close. Xander’s heart lurches, twists. “I missed you,” Ryoma says, clear amid the murk of worried whispers, as Azura draws Corrin as far off to the side as they can, as Elise murmurs something decidedly not English to Brynhildr with her head bowed.</p><p>“I am sorry to have left you,” Sumeragi says. Was this always his voice, Xander wonders, this rough low thing, or is it death that made it so raw? “Know that I am proud of you, my son.”</p><p>Xander watches as Ryoma’s head bows. He can’t see anything of facial expressions, only the set of his shoulders, the bare nape of his neck as the loose tail of his hair slides forward. Something envious and gnawing clutches at Xander for a moment — what he wouldn’t have done for his father to tell him much the same! — but the worry of the moment invades before that can take hold. </p><p>All abruptly Hinoka’s head snaps up, and she inhales sharply. “Got you,” she says, and lunges forward as a wolf, shedding the yukata like a broken cocoon. The silver of her ring falls in a quick flash — bounces off bone and off to the side, and if the darkness isn’t solid that’s going to be lost—</p><p>“<em>Damn</em> it,” Takumi says with feeling, and, “<em>Give</em> me that—“ Blue light lashes out, bowstring become a curling whip, snaring the falling ring and returning it to Takumi’s hand; and in the moment after, before anyone else can do anything, Takumi takes off at a run after Hinoka, faster than he should be able to, a brisk spring wind in his wake. Sumeragi’s head turns sharply, and he reaches out to catch at his second son, but there’s something— some flicker of motion from Ryoma, and Sumeragi can’t reach, and Hinoka and Takumi are gone into the dark.</p><p>“Okay,” Elise says suddenly. “Go.” This is pretty clearly directed to Corrin and Azura, by the turn of her head. She places her hand flat on the pages, and green curls out of the ink and over her fingers. At the same time the seaweed caught amidst the revenant’s hair seems suddenly to grow — Xander catches flickers of movement as wet fronds drape over toward Ryoma as well, and a weight pervades the air.</p><p>Corrin says something like “<em>Wait—</em>" but Azura will have none of that. She’s off like a shot as soon as Elise has said to go, and her hand in Corrin’s dragging both of them lurching along, to the other side, left where Hinoka had gone right. </p><p>Elise is panting harshly, leaning against Xander. She makes a small, pained sound — Xander holds her close instinctively, and a quick look over reveals only that she’s bitten through her lip, not whether there’s anything more serious underneath it. “Can’t hold,” she says, and slumps, Brynhildr closing up. Xander catches her, lowers her carefully. She’s slit-eyed, barely conscious as he helps her to a sit on the broad bone of the weathered sternum beneath them, and her glow is dim at best; but she holds on to Xander first, then to Brynhildr as she settles, catching her breath. </p><p>He thinks she’ll be just fine— as long as nothing <em>else</em> happens. There are movements up by Ryoma, a brief struggle with the bands of seaweed and kelp Elise created. Accordingly Xander knows he can ill afford the time he takes pressing a hand to Elise’s forehead, smoothing her hair back and telling her with gestures if not with words that all will be all right, that he will take care of things, but he must take it anyway.</p><p>Against his back, Siegfried’s weight is a heavy, hot thing.</p><p>Footsteps. Xander feels them before he hears them. He stands then, takes steps forward enough that Elise isn’t directly behind him any longer. His palms are clammy, aching where new-healed tissue pulls; he presses them against worn jeans, breathes through the way his heart jumps and twists behind his ribs. </p><p>He has survived everything to this point. He’ll survive this, too. Xander sets himself, and focuses, prepares for the worst.</p><p>Ryoma has trailed some little ways behind his father. Now he comes forward, moves to stand — not quite between them. To the side, facing neither, choosing neither. His face is worried, his eyes a thousand years distant. “Xander,” he says, distress not nearly so cloaked as he thinks it is, and falls silent immediately thereafter, empty hands curling into fists by his sides. </p><p>Xander couldn’t answer if he wanted to. He makes himself look at Sumeragi. </p><p>It had been easy, once Ryoma established he wasn’t going to hold his father’s crimes against Xander, to let some things fade. He kept trying not to, kept dragging reminders of pain and death back to the forefront of his mind; but always it was so, so much easier to lean into the present moment, to take hold of Ryoma’s presence and the uncomfortable itch of healing hands. </p><p>Now it is terribly clear that somehow, some way, Xander is looking at a corpse. </p><p>Sumeragi is taller than Ryoma by a few inches; broader, enough that it’s an easy guess Ryoma’s mother was built small and slender. Impossible to really tell what his coloration had been like, with hair gone dark with wet and wrack, tangled every which way, and skin all death-pallid. Xander’s grateful for the absurd mercy of clothes, knowing Sumeragi was killed as a wolf— what he wears is water-stained and warped, but clearly some type of formal kimono, once white. </p><p>The hole in his chest has stained it bitter brown, red only around the edges. </p><p>“König,” Sumeragi says, measured though raw, and Ryoma makes some worried noise not quite a word, brows knit. </p><p>There is, Xander supposes, no reason not to be polite, even with bile biting acid at the back of his throat. He inclines his head, his shoulders, enough to be some shade of respectful but never quite letting Sumeragi fully out of view. One syllable. He can manage one syllable, surely, can’t he? “...Sir.”</p><p>Certainly not the circumstances under which anyone would want to meet their partner’s parents. </p><p>“You look very like your father, when we were younger.” Every word carefully shaped. It’s a cadence Xander recognizes, if at ninety degrees; Sumeragi, perhaps, measures his words because dead men are not infamous for their soft tissue flexibility, while Xander simply can’t find his words half the time now. Neither one is fair. Both of them are Father’s fault. </p><p>Xander cannot think resembling him is a boon. He inclines his head again, temporarily at a loss for words and fumbling with a thousand potential questions to winnow down the easiest, the most urgent. “...How?” Xander manages at length, the rest of <em>how are you here how are you alive how are you walking how are you revenge</em> getting caught up on his tongue. </p><p>Sumeragi’s smile is not quite Ryoma’s, something for which Xander immediately blesses Ryoma’s mother. “Here is where the wild has gone,” Sumeragi says softly, so low it’s a rumble of stone on stone that Xander has to strain to catch. “It was a full moon’s night when I was murdered.”</p><p>If a wolf dies in the woods under a full moon, if he is buried there, what becomes of the man? Xander knows now, bone-deep and cold down to the core of him. Here.</p><p>Xander draws breath, slow, counting, again and again, controlling nausea as much as he’s searching for words. There’s a scent of rot in the air — not heavy, but inescapably present, edging everything else that might be there. He wonders— what it smells like to Ryoma—</p><p>He has to put that away. A word, after a word, after a word. “My father is dead,” Xander says, each word dropping like a stone from his lips. “M-my—“ The rest of the sentence flees; Xander closes his mouth on it and frowns, chasing after syllables that had seemed easy to grasp a moment ago. No, they are there. He only needs be more determined. “My brother. Killed him.”</p><p>This truth they must all face, and take to heart. </p><p>“<em>Good.</em>” Sumeragi’s eyes are sunken, deep-set, intense with something Xander does not have to search too far to name as a barely-leashed rage. “But to know your family has stolen not only my life, but also my <em>revenge—" </em>He snarls something wordless, face contorted impossibly for a living man. Ryoma flinches with the force of it. </p><p>There will be no pleasing an angry ghost. And this one seems hungry besides that, seething under the surface, contained perhaps only for the sake of his son. Xander has a hundred thoughts, a hundred questions. None of them get out. He takes a single step backward, and holds himself there, no matter that he wants to flee further.</p><p>Elise is behind him. Elise is also his father’s child.</p><p>“Father,” Ryoma says then, moving as if he might intercede, even if it’s just fractional shifts of his weight, an edging forward that could so easily become a lunge.</p><p>“No,” Sumeragi says, and turns his face from his son.</p><p>Xander sees Ryoma’s wince because he’s looking for it — Ryoma nearly managed to hide it. Nearly. “His scent is in my heart,” Ryoma says, more firmly, more urgently, and steps between them. “I understand your anger, but for my sake if nothing else—"</p><p>“Bonds may be broken.” Sumeragi takes his son by the shoulder, shoves him aside — there is a brief contest of strength which Ryoma loses, stumbles back hissing under his breath. With Ryoma moved, Sumeragi focuses on Xander again, and there is something in his hand, something Xander can’t quite see, like an impression of something embossed in the air. “And rotten trees grow rotten fruit—"</p><p>Xander’s stomach drops like a stone, and he lunges backward in time for that same something to split the air where he’d been standing. He doesn’t <em>want</em> this. His gaze catches Ryoma’s over Sumeragi’s shoulder, Ryoma rolling his shoulder and looking stricken. That moment might last forever, that wildly horrified look on Ryoma’s face the only thing that exists in the world. </p><p>No matter what he does here, Xander loses something. </p><p>And if he must lose something, then he will opt to keep his life and his sister’s. Xander reaches back, over his shoulder, and Siegfried slides free of its battered sheath at his pull, a rusted wreck become a shining thing as he puts his second hand to its hilt. With Siegfried he catches that next splitting strike, and it jars all up and down his arm, something like static setting his teeth on edge. </p><p>He can see what Sumeragi holds now: a long sword, slightly curved, the hilt enameled white and ornamented with gold, and the pale white-silver length of the blade gleams blue, shivers with sparks. Xander has never seen this blade before but he knows it, nevertheless, has felt its touch more kindly in Ryoma’s hands. There is nothing this can be but Raijinto, or perhaps some echo of it. </p><p>A ghost of the blade.</p><p>Sumeragi snarls, caught like that, and his face barely looks the same any more, distorted with anger and death. The blade pulls away — Xander overbalances in the sudden absence of pressure — and suddenly it’s a rush to keep up, to turn aside stroke after stroke, and Xander falls back, step by step. He’s vaguely aware of Ryoma behind Sumeragi, of something flickering and sparking between the two, but nothing comes of it — fizzling sounds echo in the hollowness of the ribcage. Xander’s breath knifes in his lungs fast and sharp.</p><p>A dead man needs no breath. </p><p>Block. Catch. Turn. Almost Xander thinks he sees shadows of Raijinto, flickering around it — but he can’t reason what they are, only that they’re confusing where he moves Siegfried. He blinks rapidly to clear his eyes and that only intensifies them, edges shadows with silver. A trail of static scores a hot burn under his guard, across his chest, and Sumeragi hardly seems to notice the flinch, bent on destruction as he is. More and more Xander feels Elise behind him, and it panics more than determines him— surely there’s <em>something</em> he can do, something Siegfried can do, some edge beyond that of his instinctive wild attempts to keep up, but— </p><p>No mysterious power wells up in him. Xander cries out as he’s a hair too slow and the not-there Raijinto slices briefly hot against his shoulder, crackling. Xander doesn’t feel blood run down his arm, has no time to think but to raise his sword again. Sparks fly where the blades meet each other, and Siegfried hums. </p><p>Finally Xander makes the mistake of trying to block a shadow instead of the bright blade of the sword, realizes it only when there’s no resistance, when SIegfried presses into empty air instead of blade. His heart leaps to his throat for the mistake, certain of pain and darkness— but then Raijinto is there, a precious second after he’d thought, and the shadow rebounds and then Raijinto does. </p><p>—could it be?</p><p>This is not the place to test hints of the future by trial and error, but it’s all he has. Xander narrows his eyes till the shadows are clearer, draws Siegfried across where the next one tells him and <em>pushes</em>; and again the same thing, and Sumeragi roars fury as Xander deflects the strike before it’s even completed. </p><p>It has to be enough.</p><p>Heart in his throat he steps forward, minding how the shadows shift instead of where the blade goes, and suddenly he can breathe easier now that he can<em> see</em>. But there’s still Elise, and even with this much Xander is only defending. He doesn’t know if the inky dark to their sides is solid — Azura had flown over it too fast to see, and she isn’t a good standard in this place — so he can’t take that chance; but without, there’s scarce room for one person to pass another. Certainly not with swords in the mix.</p><p>Again over the revenant’s shoulder Xander catches glimpse of Ryoma, pale and drawn, but nevertheless moving — a slow circle, maybe. Xander steps to the left, ever so slightly; Ryoma goes toward Xander’s right. If they’re very careful they can inscribe a small circle.</p><p>Xander wonders if the hungry ghost is willing to strike even Ryoma. He doesn’t want the chance to find out. </p><p>Step after step, Xander painfully aware that his strength is starting to flag, that his hands and his wrists ache with the effort of rapid movement for such a long, broad sword. And then he sees — a gap in the shadows, in the direction he’s trying to go, an opening — Xander lunges, low and braced to roll across his shoulder rather than risk a stumble. He fumbles it anyway, reminded sudden and sharp of the wound adrenaline had hidden. He manages to get up to his knees, at the last moment braces Siegfried’s flat with his hand to block the next down-hammer of a blow. Every muscle screams.</p><p>But he’s where he wanted to go, he’s made the turn, and even now he can see Ryoma still behind Sumeragi, only now Ryoma’s between Sumeragi and <em>Elise</em>, and Xander feels all the lighter for it, for knowing that even if Ryoma cannot raise hand to his father’s corpse at least he can cover Elise. </p><p>Now all that remains is Xander himself, shaking under the weight, with Siegfried heavy in his hands. And there is Ryoma’s face — worried, pallid, looking straight at Xander with Elise peering over his shoulder. </p><p>The world narrows. Xander’s heartbeat pounds heavy in his ears. Ryoma says something — whatever it is, Xander doesn’t hear it, only sees his lips move, feels weight bear down on him. Siegfried shifts poorly as Xander pushes back — there’s a sudden sharp heat in his hand, this time a trickling warmth. Not <em>again</em>.</p><p>Xander chances raising his head to catch Sumeragi’s eye, looking for something that might be open to reason. </p><p>There’s nothing — just that fierce angry hunger, like this is no longer a man but instead vengeance given form and hunting for whatever outlet it may have. No. This is not something he can reason with; and his breath is too sharp and his tongue too clumsy to form whatever silver-charmed words would make this exchange something kinder. </p><p>Raijinto slides down the blade, a fountain of sparks thrown up there that half-blinds Xander. He pushes himself backward and his legs simply give out on him as he tries to rise, leave him sprawling. Raijinto stabs down — Xander half-rolls to the side enough that it embeds itself in bone rather than in his head — and the shadows show where there is clear and empty space as the revenant is caught up in trying to free the blade enough to strike again.</p><p>Xander cannot see Ryoma’s face from this angle. </p><p>He gets Siegfried around just in time, lifting the point with a trembling wrist, and Raijinto grates free — Xander thrusts upward as Sumeragi moves — there is resistance, and then there is nothing, and he is afraid to look. At Sumeragi; at Ryoma; at anything at all. </p><p>When he finally manages enough boldness to open his eyes again, to see what has become — Sumeragi is coming apart at the seams, but still one hand reaches toward Xander, clawed and grasping, barred only by the distance Siegfried holds him at. There is a whisper of movement, different sounds from grinding bone and flesh and metal; then Ryoma is there over Sumeragi’s shoulder, reaching past him to snag that reaching hand at the wrist. “Not this,” Ryoma says, his voice low and raw as Xander has ever heard it. “Be content in the revenge that has already been taken. Whatever is left of you— trust to me. Please.”</p><p>Sumeragi’s head turns. Slow, ponderous, something vast and thundering turned aside at the last possible moment. Something passes between them, perhaps, some understanding Xander isn’t privy to between father and son. Then slowly, with an air of terrible finality, Sumeragi lowers his hand, and the pieces of him begin to collapse into dust. </p><p>Ryoma makes a choked-off sound as that dust falls between his fingers; but he does not move, as transfixed as Xander is by the need to see it through. </p><p>Siegfried clatters to the bone beneath them, no longer supported, too heavy on its own for Xander’s trembling wrists. He brings his hands to his chest, the pain from the bleeding one striking him all over again with a throbbing counterpoint-echo in his shoulder.</p><p>It’ll heal. Probably. Xander blots the blood away to inspect the wound, notes that at least it isn’t terribly jagged. “<em>Xander</em>,” Elise says reproachfully, from far closer than he’d anticipated, and then she’s beside him, putting Brynhildr next to Siegfried before tearing strips off her skirt to bind his hand with. The cloth is faintly cool to the touch. Her hands, too, are shaking, Xander notes, and she looks like she needs a great deal of sleep, but she’s too determined to pass out now.</p><p>Ryoma kneels down next to the two of them. The motion draws Xander’s eye, but he doesn’t know what to make of Ryoma right now — pale, eyes the luminous amber of the wolf, otherwise utterly still and watchful. His expression obscures, does not reveal. Xander cannot tell just by looking if that which stretches between them is damaged.</p><p>“We have to go,” Ryoma says, intent and yet revealing nothing. </p><p>Xander wants very badly to go to him, whether to lean on or to lift him up in turn. The dust that was the revenant of Sumeragi sits between them.</p><p>“Hinoka and Corrin went different ways.” Elise tightens up a knot and sits back, reaching to pick up Brynhildr again. “Who should we follow?”</p><p>Ryoma looks up, then down the spine. “Different ways,” he repeats, frowning. “Isn’t this only one creature?”</p><p>Elise shrugs, points. Xander follows the line of sight and sees what she means — maybe. Some distance before them, behind where Sumeragi had appeared, there’s something solid, a fractionally lighter color than the abyss that surrounds them. A wall, perhaps. There’s room within the confines of the ribs to go around it, if awkwardly. </p><p>How far does this skeleton go?</p><p>“Maybe that’s the heart,” Elise says. “I don’t know, but Corrin and Azura went one way and Takumi and Hinoka went the other, so...”</p><p>Xander feels, very strongly, that they should not split up in mirror, given their reduced resources. Ryoma nods, stands and takes a few paces that way, mouth open and inhaling carefully as he turns his head this way and that. “Hinoka was likely following Leo’s scent,” Ryoma says after a few moments. “I can’t pick that up, but if the scent-bond wasn’t completely broken, or if it rebounded, then she’d be able to pick him out at a greater distance. But Azura knows her way around here, potentially with the benefit of her mother’s knowledge.” </p><p>The split of concepts puts them back where they began. Hesitantly Xander himself stands, and when he falters Elise ducks under his arm with a scrunched nose to indicate what she thinks of his frailty. “Be <em>careful</em>,” she says, too much worry to be stern.</p><p>“Mmhm.” Xander manages a sound of agreement, but rather undercuts it in the next minute as he goes to retrieve Siegfried and nearly falls over again. Elise shoves her shoulder against him to keep him upright, <em>herself</em> staggers, and then starts giggling helplessly. There’s an edge of mania to the giggling, but Xander will take the sound over any of the alternatives.</p><p>He returns Siegfried to the sheath across his back after a few false starts. The weight there is comforting. </p><p>“...Corrin.” Ryoma turns toward Xander and Elise as they come toward him, careful about where they step. “Hinoka and Takumi... can take care of themselves. And there’s Fujin’s weapon to count in, as well. Corrin and Azura only have each other.”</p><p>Xander has to ask, and he manages the words one by one. “Are you sure?”</p><p>The look Ryoma gives him is an aeon of heartache compressed into three seconds. “We have to do something,” he says, and turns to go the same way Azura and Corrin ran, bare feet tentative against bone and shadow.</p><p>Xander wants nothing so much as to hold his hand. He doesn’t reach out, only, after a moment’s pause for his own aching heart, follows with Elise close to him. She has Brynhildr to her chest, and keeps peering up at Xander. “It’ll be all right,” she tells him, after the third or fourth time he catches her at it.</p><p>How far a fall, that his youngest sister feels she has to comfort <em>him</em>. Xander tries to smile, pats her hair gently. “I know,” he says, despite the uncertainty. For Elise, he can at least look as if he believes that. Elise beams gently at him. </p><p>They keep moving, damaged but sure.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have known this scene was going to happen since about halfway through the fic and I'm not even a little sorry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0059"><h2>59. scylla</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: violence, monstrous body horror, pain</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Where Ryoma had thought before that this must be all of one creature, bound to a sense of linear space, now he’s sure it can’t be, not with the way they’re moving. The thing he has begun to think of as the heart is a great division, a huge irregular orb of deep green and abyss-blue, taking up most of the room in this body. If this were a continuous, real creature, they should surely be into an abdomen at <em>least</em> by now, based on the proportions alone. </p><p>But the ribs go on and on, and there is enough solidity under their feet — Ryoma <em>feels</em> a shift from the rougher surface of the bone to something damper, something with more give, and he doesn’t dare to look down and see what they’re standing on now. He almost reaches for Xander.</p><p>Every time he thinks about it, something tangled rises up in his chest — grief and shame and gratitude all at once. He doesn’t know how to unpick it or even what it all is, only that if he lets too much of it in it’s going to overwhelm him and then he won’t be good for anything else. Now is not a time in which they can spare a breakdown. So Ryoma doesn’t: he looks forward, not down or back, and moves along the great impossible skeleton. </p><p>He thinks their paths describe an arc around the core. There are sounds, familiar voices; and then, as they come around the bulk of the ominously bulging thing, there are siblings. Hinoka is human again, and wearing approximately half a yukata as she prods at the orb with something long and pale. Takumi, next to her, has the other half of the yukata wrapped around his waist and his arms folded defensively across his chest as he bickers with her about appropriate courses of action.</p><p>Sitting on the bone behind them is Leo, scratched and clearly exhausted, in most of the dark sensible clothes he was wearing the night he was kidnapped. He is, Ryoma appreciates, pointedly not looking at the length of Hinoka’s legs. </p><p>“<em>Leo!</em>” Elise says, high and loud, and stumbles running past Ryoma to throw herself at Leo. The brother in question has barely enough time to brace himself before acquiring a lap full of Elise, Brynhildr pulsing with soft energy just to the side of them. </p><p>Ryoma lets go of a tension he didn’t know he’d had. Good. That’s undeniably, uncomplicatedly good. Xander goes to them as well, and Ryoma turns his gaze to his own siblings, who are largely uninjured, and mostly angry with everything available. “—just shoving things into it isn’t going to get us through,” Takumi snips, visibly resisting the urge to gesticulate.</p><p>“Then you try something.” Hinoka prods the strange surface again. Ryoma eyes what she has, trying to figure out what it is — the off-white color of the improvised spear makes him think bone. “The best idea I have is sympathetic magic and having no defense against yourself, but <em>I’m</em> not the one with a cosmic bowstring bracelet I’m not using.”</p><p>“You’re the one who said no to it!” Takumi does fling up his hands this time. </p><p>It is so terribly good to see them, even though it can’t possibly have been that long. This... it’s like everything is normal again. Without preamble Ryoma goes to them, and tugs Hinoka aside from her goal to hug her, dropping his head to breathe the familiar wolf-worn scent of her. He doesn’t have the faintest idea what he smells like — she chases the grave-dust and mildew from his nose.</p><p>“...it was rough, huh,” Hinoka says quietly into his shoulder. Awkwardly she tries to pat his back, although has forgotten she’s holding a long shaft of bone. It clips Ryoma alongside the ear and he yelps with the suddenness of it, untangles them and steps back. That’s probably safer, anyway. No risk of a slightly different breakdown. </p><p>He rubs his ear pointedly. Hinoka grimaces. “We found Leo a lot further down,” she says, skipping straight to explanations. “Somewhere around the tail, I think. Also, trapped in bone, which was super creepy.” She hefts her bone stick. “Took this from it after we chipped him out. He was pretty unsupervised.”</p><p>“She ate a seaweed monster,” Takumi says tiredly. “If you throw it up later, it’s not my fault. I tried to stop you.”</p><p>Absently Hinoka bats at him with the bone, and Takumi snares it instead of ducking; an impromptu tug-of-war ensues. </p><p>Leo’s voice picks up, carrying over the low murmur of his siblings with a certain familiar waspishness. “<em>Please</em> control your siblings.”</p><p>“Not even Raijinto could do that.” The quip is brittle, but better than anything else that might come out. Ryoma looks over — focuses <em>specifically</em> on Leo, not anyone else in that vicinity — offers the only smile he has, which is tired and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you have an idea?”</p><p>“Wind is an opener of ways,” Leo says, sounding like he’s reeling it off by rote. “A bowstring wants to be strung. Also, keep your lightning to yourself; it more than likely won’t help anyone here.”</p><p>This is duly noted. Ryoma hadn’t had plans involving touching that power anyway, and instead he fidgets with his safe-passage ring to ensure he can get it off in a hurry if he needs to. There is a chance he will want to be a wolf. Ryoma moves his gaze carefully away from Leo and toward his siblings again instead, and despite his best efforts he catches Xander in the corner of his eye, all faintly knit brow and frown lines making his mouth harsh. Ryoma wants—</p><p>—to go to him, to kiss the frown off his face and curl against his side, to forget the sight of Siegfried and Sumeragi for as long as his life will stretch—</p><p>—Ryoma does not get any of these things when they are in the very literal belly of the beast. Even a second will be too much. He puts a hand on the long shaft of the bone; both his siblings look at him. “Takumi. Could you use this? Assume it only needs to be symbolic, and perhaps only needs to last for a little while.”</p><p>Another pause. Takumi transfers his dubious regard to the bone. “...maybe,” he says, and tugs at it. “Hey, let go.”</p><p>Hinoka makes a face at having to give up her prize, but she does, even if it’s only after holding it long enough to make a point. Takumi sits down cross-legged with the long shard of bone across his knees, and starts the apparently laborious process of coaxing the bowstring off his wrist. This seems to involve a lot of muttering under his breath about how he <em>knows</em> it’s not adequately prepared but it’s what they’ve got, and would Fujin <em>please</em> indulge him.</p><p>Leaving him to that, Hinoka turns to Ryoma, tugs him a little aside. The awkward solicitousness of it all might break Ryoma, honestly. “Did something happen?” she asks, very quietly. “I mean— besides—"</p><p>They’d all seen that revenant, of course. “Don’t.” Ryoma turns his face aside as she stumbles over the words. “Not right now.” </p><p>She lets out her breath all in a rush, shifts on her feet. “That bad, huh.”</p><p>He can’t even stop to assess how bad it is without teetering somewhere he’d rather not be. Ryoma shakes his head. “Leave it. Everything’s taken care of, we’ll rest later.”</p><p>“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so aggressively the oldest brother,” Hinoka complains, and shoves him in the shoulder too gently to be serious about it. “Okay, okay, just let me know if I need to eat anything for you. I’m hungry, after all this.”</p><p>Despite himself, Ryoma’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Here I remember Takumi saying you ate a seaweed monster.”</p><p>“Well,” she says. “Yeah. But it was all plant and fiber, not a lot of meat, you know? And really salty. Not exactly a filling meal.”</p><p>Ryoma loves his family desperately and thoroughly. He reaches over to ruffle up her hair, and Hinoka lets him for a good five seconds longer than she usually does, winds up with red spikes going every direction and a reluctant smile dragging up the corners of her mouth and giving the lie to her indignantly furrowed brow. Just then from behind her Takumi shouts, something raw and furiously delighted, and that rather puts the damper on any further discussions of emotions.</p><p>Still, Ryoma is intimately aware every moment of where Xander is, of the sunlit warmth of his scent at the back of Ryoma’s consciousness. </p><p>In Takumi’s hands is light and swirling wind. He’s gone wide-eyed, looks like he’d back away from it if the whole thing wasn’t in his lap. “Once I got it hooked over the ends, it just— took,” he says, breathless. </p><p>“Told you it’d just take a half-decent stick,” Hinoka says, not to be left out. </p><p>Takumi lifts one hand away from the bone to make a rude gesture. Ryoma is eldest-brother-bound to say “<em>Takumi</em>” in a disapproving voice. </p><p>“Anyway,” Takumi says. “I think— just give it a moment—“ </p><p>The König siblings are moving in closer now, Leo leaning on Xander to peer thoughtfully at what’s being revealed. Elise peeks between them, wide-eyed and curious. As the light dims and the gusts of wind die down, what’s in Takumi’s lap begins to look rather strongly like a bow, and almost not at all like the long splinter of bone that had been there before, only that it’s approximately the same color and length. Now it’s curved and strung, with a notably engraved grip and patterns all down the length of the bone, largely swirls reminiscent of wind but in one place Japanese characters, glimmering silvery-blue. Takumi runs his hand along these, feeling out with his fingertips. “It agreed,” he explains dazedly. “Since this is a dragon bone.”</p><p>The bowstring hums and trembles as if in agreement. Hinoka makes a face at this as well, and stands back as Takumi rises. </p><p>“Excellent,” Leo says blandly. “I take it none of us have any concept what we’re going to find if we can get inside with that?”</p><p>“Azura and Corrin, hopefully.” It isn’t much to offer, Ryoma knows. He frowns faintly at himself. “I think it’s safe to assume that, no matter how reduced, the one we’re after is some sort of dragon.”</p><p>“<em>Here be dragons</em>, indeed.” Leo laughs a short, bitter sort of laugh. “How fortunate that Siegfried is among our number.”</p><p>Ryoma doesn’t look at Xander, but every other sense remains painfully attuned: the shift of sounds as he moves faintly, the persistent golden mostly-reassurance of his scent. Xander doesn’t volunteer any words. </p><p>Takumi stretches, negotiating his bow from one hand to the other as he stretches out his shoulders and arms in turn. “I promise I’ll take a <em>lot</em> more archery classes,” he says under his breath as he takes up a stance, hooks two fingers over the shimmering bowstring. Everyone gives him a slightly wider berth than they had before. He breathes slowly, deeply. Raises the bow. “Right now, if you want a continuation to our family line to bear you into the future, you’re going to have to help us get this open. Okay?” </p><p>There’s a focus about him Ryoma usually sees directed at particularly annoying problems. Takumi keeps at that slow, even breathing, and draws the string back, slow toward his ear; and as he does there is an arrow, something that shimmers into existence like a mirage drawn back by his fingers. Unnecessarily Ryoma holds his breath. </p><p>Takumi waits there, for something none of the rest of them are privy to, with eddies of wind curling up around his feet, and making the abyss that lies beyond the skeleton vastly obvious for how the wind stirs the water. Finally, finally he makes some small triumphant sound, as if he has found something that eluded him; and then, quite without other preamble, he lets go of the string. </p><p>The shimmering arrow flares for an instant before vanishing to something Ryoma can’t see except for its passing, something made only of air and movement. It’s not like it has so very far to go, when the veil that they hope to part is more or less right before them, but it must needs carry a force with it. It strikes the abyss-heart wall with sea-spray, salt and dampness blown back to them, and slowly, slowly, the barrier begins to part around the glowing bolt. </p><p>It looks like a struggle. Takumi pitches forward, catches himself leaning on the bow, still focused eagle-eyed on the point he has struck, brow furrowed thunderously. His intent, Ryoma realizes, still has some effect here, and Takumi is... yes, <em>definitely</em> swearing under his breath. </p><p>This swearing, Ryoma does not feel the need to reprimand him for.</p><p>The sea-spray parts, enough to allow them through even if what’s inside is hard to see from here. Hinoka wastes no time, charges in almost before Ryoma can realize that’s what she’s doing. It’s a quick sequence after that — he lunges after her, intent that she should not go alone, and then there’s a sharp cry from Elise and Ryoma can hear her footsteps behind; the heavier steps behind her have to be Xander, naturally loath to let any sibling go unaccompanied, and then there’s a frustrated noise from Leo.</p><p>Ryoma looks back just in time to see Leo tackle Takumi, sending both of them flying toward the opened gap in the barrier, under the bolt. The bow comes with them, but Takumi’s focus is broken, and the waters snap shut again just as they’ve passed, leaving no visible escape. </p><p>It isn’t a big place, inside this heart, and there isn’t much to it, either. Darkness in all directions, and the vague sense of the skeleton that surrounds, but only insofar as Ryoma feels like it should be easy to reach out and move legs or wings — the sense is easier to shake off when he’s remembered he doesn’t have wings. The wrack and the weed grows in around the edges, all twisted and tangled up in itself, but other than that, there are the people, and there is nothingness.</p><p>Is it three people, or four? Ryoma’s eyes play tricks on him. He rubs his hand across his face, looks again. Corrin and Azura, certainly, and a form that looks more or less like a human, probably male, with a loose waterfall of almost-hair over one shoulder, mirroring Azura’s coloration and the impression of moving water that always seems to come with her; but behind <em>that</em> form is something else, something that doesn’t want to parse into anything like a familiar shape. Too many limbs and joints that point the wrong way and scales, always scales, blue and black and green like deep-water, overgrown water, a spring choked with unfettered surrounding growth. </p><p>It hurts to look at. Ryoma closes his eyes and listens instead. Like that, he can hear what Corrin and Azura must: a voice under everything, a voice like the roar of waves and the wash of the tide, hard to hear except in the rise and fall. “Stay here,” it is saying; “stay here, stay forever, stay to grow and overrun and wash the shoreline down into sand, stay—"</p><p>“I <em>can’t</em>,” Corrin says, almost a petulant teenager but for the note of pleading. “Why can’t you understand that? This isn’t a place for people, what you’ve made here.”</p><p>“Stay,” the voice entreats. “This is all there is, all that humans haven’t touched. You belong here we belong here I know you I see you.”</p><p>Corrin groans. “Azura, help.”</p><p>A shifting of cloth, a few assorted thuds. Ryoma can imagine a shrug and Azura sitting down on what passes for ground here. “Can you convince the ocean not to rise?”</p><p>“You’re supposed to be <em>helping</em>,” Corrin complains, over a steady susurrus of <em>stay forever, stay here and untouched</em>. </p><p>“I am,” Azura says, serene. “After all, that is what we must do. Anankos is not distinct from the ocean.”</p><p>“New idea,” Hinoka puts in, over the sounds that echo under. “Actually, fuck this.” Ryoma, already wincing, opens his eyes just in time to see Hinoka attempt to clothesline the figure that looks near-human. She passes right through it, slams to the floor, and shoves herself up with a groan. </p><p>“That isn’t the one.” Azura, cross-legged on the ground, tilts her head. “Not like that.”</p><p>Hinoka taps at her ears as she gets up. “That <em>sound</em>.” But she retreats to a wary distance, eying the figure that doesn’t seem to have been affected at all by her wild charge. </p><p>The sound comes and goes, easier to hear when Ryoma isn’t occupied looking at things. He listens intently for it again — hears the voice again, continuing to murmur. “You are mine, this is mine, shouldn’t you stay here? Where is the rest that was mine? Ah, but this is enough to begin to grow again, if you only stay— stay here where nothing reaches—"</p><p>On, and on, and on. There’s some quality about the rambling that Ryoma’s having trouble putting a finger on. He stands and listens, eyes closed, trying to nail down what’s missing. Corrin’s footsteps go in pacing circles; every so often she tries to interject and goes completely unheard, the figure of the wild simply continuing on in the same pattern. </p><p>—the same pattern. Ryoma opens his eyes, moves warily toward Azura and Corrin. The one who stands there with them keeps following Corrin with his gaze, reaching toward her without taking steps. Yet. A few paces away, Ryoma hunkers down next to Azura, and she looks at him with a quizzical sort of passivity. “Is it possible that this is a ghost?”</p><p>Azura stares at him. Corrin spins on the spot, eyes wide. “What?”</p><p>Ryoma eyes the reaching figure for a few moments longer, but it doesn’t move. He adjusts his position to a more comfortable kneeling, and adds his two cents’ worth. “He seems stuck. Ghosts— the kind I know of, the kind I was taught about— linger in one emotion or intention from their death, that keeps them in the living world. Sometimes vengeful, sometimes not.”</p><p>Like Father. Body or not, physical or not, that had only been a ghost. A remnant.</p><p>The voice he hears next is the creaking of trees in the wind, the heavy catch of waves on driftwood and stone. “I am not dead,” it says, clearer than before, and Corrin yelps and leaps away from the figure she’d been tentatively approaching. “I cannot be dead.” </p><p>The eyes that focus on Ryoma are cousin to Azura’s, all gold and looking <em>through</em>, rather than at; Ryoma feels seen and ignored all at once. “The wild is mine and I am the wild, and so I cannot be dead. And you are all of the wild, o wolves that hunt under the moon’s call—"</p><p>Something pulls in Ryoma, deep in his heart or perhaps his soul, and suddenly it’s a fight to stay human. The pull toward the thing in the center of this heart is all teeth and pack-singing, the freedom to run and run forever and endlessly, never stopped by anyone or anything. Ryoma pitches forward, catches himself on his hands. Fur runs along his arms and down his back, and he opens his mouth not to say something but to draw scents, to cling to whatever there is here. He will <em>not</em>.</p><p>“Fuck <em>off</em>,” Takumi says very clearly. Ryoma pricks ears toward him. Winter-wind, chill and fresh. Hinoka is something smokier, sharper, like burnt wood on top of the wolf. Reassuring, but anchoring of the many aspects all at once. Family is wolf and human, wild and cultivated. </p><p>Ryoma swings his head toward Xander, finds his sunlight in sight and in scent, and it helps. It pricks at his heart, but it helps. Paws recede to hands, at least for now; and Xander comes toward him, unsteady but not hesitating, offers his hand wordless. It’s the bloodied one, adding the heavy scent of that to Ryoma’s nose as Xander picks the makeshift bandage looser. Stupid— but helping. Ryoma closes his eyes and takes the offered hand, uses that as tether against the pull to run into the deeps forever.</p><p>“You were the one,” Xander says, slow and deliberate, directed down at Ryoma’s head. There’s a pause — Ryoma tries not to lean on him, mostly succeeds. The band of the ring on his finger digs in, too-small pinion against the change that’s trying to happen. “You said. There aren’t many untouched places, any more. But that doesn’t mean human intervention is always bad. Wild and human-touched aren’t an opposition, like so many think.”</p><p>Ryoma still hears the waves, and the pull in him hasn’t abated; but there’s a quiver in the air now, some quiet change. </p><p>“Where are you going with this, Xander?” Leo murmurs from somewhere in the distance. “—Ah! Ms. Morimoto, <em>please</em> settle down, and if you could refrain from biting me, I would be <em>greatly indebted</em>.” </p><p>“I’m not sure,” Xander says. His hand on Ryoma’s tightens. “I can almost see it. We’re here for you— you were taken from the middle of a city, from a house— how would the wild have domain there?”</p><p>“Thresholds.” Leo is thinking, audibly. “A house deemed unfit is not a home, and can be reclaimed. There are places... Chernobyl, for one. Abandoned amusement parks. Where what was built is ceded.”</p><p>“The Morimotos’ woods, too, right?” Elise puts in, a little thready but hopeful nevertheless. “They’re still <em>people</em>, but they look after it so no one else can mess with it. That’s not <em>not</em> wild, I think? But it’s not a <em>city</em> or anything like that.”</p><p>None of this is changing the undercurrent of possession that pulls at Ryoma, beats in his ears like the waves. Until:</p><p>“Oh, that’s it,” Corrin says, bright and cheery and cutting through everything else at once. “You should just come home with us!” </p><p>And everything stops. </p><p>Ryoma can breathe again, can settle himself more securely into human form, although he’s not about to let go of Xander’s hand, not while he has this opportunity. He slits his eyes open to watch — sees that <em>everything</em> is focused on Corrin, from the not-quite-there figure of a man to Azura to the thing that curls behind it all, the one that’s hard to look at for too long. </p><p>“What,” Leo says hoarsely.</p><p>“Well!” Corrin says, gesturing hastily, expansively as she talks. “He’s been here and separate and stuff forever, right? And that’s the problem! It’s <em>not</em> separate, not any more, ‘cos people are everywhere! But you can still have, you know, there’s the deer that live with people and that one island that’s just for cats even though it used to be for people, and, and all the wildlife and nature sanctuaries and everyone working hard to clean the oceans up, and—" She blows her breath out in an explosive huff, rakes her hands through the silver sea-spray mist of her hair and then props them on her hips. “It’s <em>not</em> one or the other any more. Come home with us and you can have that, but <em>I’m not staying here</em>.”</p><p>“I think we should talk about—" starts Leo, all delicately strained; but what he means to talk about rapidly becomes a moot point, as everything around them rumbles and shudders, the roar of thousands of tons of water moving at once, and nothing is audible for several long moments. </p><p>“<em>No</em>,” says Anankos when that has settled, clearer than he has been before, the not-thing and the human image speaking in synchronicity. “<em>It is no longer possible</em>.”</p><p>“Yes it is,” Corrin says, obstinate. “Just because you’re old and set in your ways doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Wildness is growth, right? Everything up there, in the not-water parts of your lands, it’s all overgrown. It keeps trying to grow, even when it can’t grow right. You can too, just don’t be stupid. Stillness won’t help anyone.”</p><p>The thing with too many joints and scales starts to move, and it seems like a struggle. The human form flickers, becomes almost purely water, all deep and barely letting light through it. “<em>I cannot</em>,” it says, like a broken record. “—<em>I cannot— Stay— Stay—</em>"</p><p>“Let us go.” Corrin plants herself firmly. “Let us go, and you can come with us, but I have things to do. I’m not staying.”</p><p>It screams. </p><p>The human image vanishes; the thing behind unfolds. It’s still terribly <em>wrong</em>, too thin to be living and bent in all the wrong ways, but that doesn’t stop it from moving, from something long like a tail lashing out and sweeping across the scant space they have at speed. Azura ducks it — Corrin yelps and leaps straight up into the air, surprisingly far — Hinoka makes a pained sound, and then a grimly satisfied one. “<em>Got</em> you.” She’s caught it, and held it, even as her shape shifts and shifts and fails to settle. The tail bucks and flails wildly, and behind her Leo murmurs some dire oath and pages open Brynhildr.</p><p>The thing keeps unfolding. There something like a wing, tattered and scale-skeletal; there a long clawed limb; there another tail, and another, until Ryoma is forced to recategorize them as tentacles. The scream pauses, abates — begins again, flavored with pain as much as rage. “I don’t <em>want</em> to hurt you!” Corrin cries out, settling light-footed on the ground and looking from limb to limb with wild panic. Nothing takes note of her words. </p><p>Brynhildr’s pages ruffle and still. A dim light pins the limb Leo is on down, all heaviness and weight, but Leo doesn’t look well enough to hold it long. Xander steps a pace away from Ryoma, draws Siegfried from his back. Once again the great sword shivers from ruin to wrath, and Ryoma in his turn stands clear of its swing, eyeballing the frantic movement. Elise stays as far back as she can, low and wide-eyed — Takumi grapples with his bow, tries and fails to draw with light sputtering in his hand.</p><p>Whatever is to be done, it needs to be fast.</p><p>There’s a head now, Ryoma sees, toothy and as unhealthily skeletal as the rest, barely more than a skull with flesh stretched thin across it. Its eyes are overgrown with scales; its long neck swings wildly, seeking. Xander cleaves at a narrow tentacle that passes too close to Corrin and Azura — there’s another scream of ocean and wroth — Xander pauses, looking at something Ryoma can’t see, and has to be pulled out of the way of a reprising slam by Corrin tugging him down. “<em>Xander</em>,” she yelps, all terrified indignation; and then the two of them have to move again, as jaws arc toward them. The screams ring in Ryoma’s ears, making it hard to think, and he can’t imagine anyone else is having an easier time.</p><p>Ryoma reaches out for Azura, tugs her back. She looks up at him quizzically. “The sound,” he says, perhaps nonsensically. “You did something earlier in the water, like singing. Can you help? At all?”</p><p>She brightens wildly, pushes him away from her — claws rake the air where he had just been — and opens her mouth to sing. It isn’t so much a <em>song</em> as it is pure raw sound, a wash of notes like the press of waves, but the harmonics or <em>something</em> are right. There’s no less sound, but Ryoma can think again. </p><p>He glances around wildly — finds Xander staring again — goes for him now, catches his shoulder and shakes. “<em>What do you see</em>?”</p><p>Xander focuses on Ryoma, a moment of peace in the middle of screaming chaos, and with his unbloodied hand he points. “The heart,” he says. “Its heart—"</p><p>Takumi manages <em>something</em> with his bow, and a bolt of light that smells of summer storms blazes by, leaving curling, wrong-bent limbs blackening and stinking. Both Xander and Ryoma wince in synchronicity. </p><p>“Show me,” Ryoma says, and reaches, puts his hand to Siegfried’s hilt with Xander’s. </p><p>It burns. He <em>shouldn’t</em> be touching this. At least half the burning is Raijinto, offended and possessive, crackling blue sparks and the scent of ozone across their joined hands. But: though his eyes hurt, Ryoma can see the shift, see where something glows deep in the unfolding nest of flesh and scales. As soon as he has it fixed in his thoughts Ryoma yanks his hand away, shakes it out. </p><p>Xander barely does more than grimace, though red marks are raised across his fingers. Ryoma would kiss every one, were there time—</p><p>There <em>is no time</em>. “Cut through,” Ryoma says, and he pries the ring off his finger, presses it into Xander’s open hand. The moment after that he shifts, pulling free of his yukata. Done with purpose, rather than at someone else’s intent, the change only takes a thought, and everything is so, so clear.</p><p>Xander nods minutely, slips the ring onto his left hand, and sets both hands to his sword. He raises his voice. “It needs to open all the way!”</p><p>Ryoma ducks around flailing claws and tentacles more cleanly in this more agile shape. He hears snatches of what the rest of their siblings are at — Azura’s voice, Corrin yelping wildly with something that isn’t all fear and isn’t all excitement either, Leo tersely asking Hinoka to <em>hold</em> while he draws the seaweed into it. The air is overwhelmed with scents, new growth and salt-drenched seaweed and the fresh burning of storms. Ryoma does one big loop around the little space they have, weaving under and over where he must. Even Elise has taken hold of something many-jointed and twisting and is hauling with determination, face set and determined. </p><p>Xander hews forward, face set. Ichor splatters behind him, adding scents of blood and the heaviness of the sea through it all. Ryoma lunges up alongside him as Xander cuts, and he <em>knows</em> what Leo said about Raijinto’s power here, in the deep waters, but their foe, too, is of the water. </p><p>If anything will move <em>through</em>, it is lightning. </p><p>So Ryoma calls to Raijinto, to the storm in his blood, and it comes eager, like pups out for their first run. Brushing pressure skates over his shoulders, his paws, and Ryoma sees a blue so bright it’s nearly white, feels lighter than even the thrill of the hunt can make him. He fixes his gaze on the point of Xander’s sword, remembers the glow he saw – and then Xander makes one more deep lunge. The screaming overpowers Azura’s song – Ryoma pins his ears flat back in an attempt to block it out, shakes his head.</p><p>But: there.</p><p>Raijinto about him, Ryoma charges, lunges, bites as deep as he may, and the lightning lances through and splits apart what barriers remain until Ryoma can hold in his teeth the heart that they sought. He lands clear behind the mass of what remains, sparks dying out around him, mouth as soft on the crystalline heart of the wild as he can make it; and once more all motion slows, and stops. </p><p>He turns in time to see the wide-flung limbs begin to dissipate, crumbling into a glittering ash. Corrin crouches down, holds out her empty hands to Ryoma, and without having to hear anything else Ryoma pads back her way and drops the heart into her hands. </p><p>It’s twin to the thing they’re in — a rough sphere the size of two fists, crystalline and abyss-blue, and under its surface a light pulses ever so softly. “Oh,” Corrin says softly, a wealth of feeling in one syllable, and she holds it to her chest and takes deep, shuddering breaths. Around them their siblings in their varying ways slump or sit, and for this long moment, there is peace. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you've ever played Diablo III a great mental image to summon up here is the very last stage in the <a href="https://oyster.ignimgs.com/mediawiki/apis.ign.com/diablo-3/b/b8/Screenshot241.jpg?width=640">Pandemonium Fortress</a>. that image has stayed with me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. kingswalk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quiet reigns, in the aftermath. There is stillness, calm, and an air of peace that had not previously penetrated these lands hangs over them now, in the deepest part. No one seems to want to break the silence first. </p><p>Ryoma’s yukata is puddled on the floor, stained with ichor and other nameless wetness. Xander sheathes Siegfried — ah, his hand <em>aches</em> letting it go, and he has no doubt it will take its time healing, but at least it’s just the one hand rather than both — and goes to pick the yukata up, to offer it toward the familiar broad wolf now pacing circles and licking his nose.</p><p>The wolf noses into the yukata with slow interest, as if there is some great consideration there. Xander looks away and holds it out like a screen, preserving what privacy is possible. He doesn’t know if there’s something more there beyond the difficulty of shifting back. He hopes there isn’t.</p><p>In a few moments the fabric is taken from him, and the human-shaped Ryoma, now clothed, holds out his hand within Xander’s field of vision. Xander offers him back the ring he’d been holding, and that’s that; Ryoma turns away to collect himself. </p><p>That is, Xander hopes it’s to collect himself. He’s well aware of the awkwardness that stands between them now, and can only hope it isn’t irreparable. Xander can’t blame him, all things considered, only... hope.</p><p>Elise tucks herself against his side, then, hiding her face in his shirt, and Xander has other things to worry about beyond being heartsore. He strokes her hair with his good hand and pretends not to notice how his shirt is getting damp. </p><p>Slowly, slowly, they pick themselves up. </p><p>Now that everything is less urgent, Hinoka skitters away from Leo like he has an offensive odor — which he may well, if Xander recalls how the scent-bond’s breaking works — and stays closer to her brothers. She makes a show of picking up Takumi, though there’s no loud voices yet, but it’s decently clear despite that occupation that she keeps checking on Ryoma, all sidelong glances and affectionate shoulder-checks. </p><p>And Corrin...</p><p>Corrin straightens up eventually, though she keeps clutching the heart close like some precious thing. Azura goes to her to look, wide-eyed and marveling, but not to touch; her hands stay well clear of the heart. And it is Corrin, fittingly, who breaks the silence finally, focusing on each of her siblings in turn. “Let’s go home,” she says. “Like I said. Okay?”</p><p>They go home. </p><p>The trip out of the skeleton is a strange one. As they step out of that central containing ‘heart’ space, it vanishes behind them, leaving only the skeleton and the deep water, like that heart had never been. And as they move further up the ribcage, finding the sternum again and those cavernous ribs overhead all ancient and hallowed, what was behind them goes, too. Xander only looks back once — finds the waves lapping at their heels, collapsing slowly — and he feels that he shouldn’t look back again, somehow. They are not <em>pursued, </em>and this is no frantic flight for their lives; but they cannot go back, either. That which was here has ended.</p><p>He wonders — what will become of Arete, and Azura? And then he doesn’t wonder. <em>Come home with me</em>, Corrin had said. It applies all around, Xander supposes, and even at this early stage Corrin seems taken enough with Azura, strangeness and all, that he can’t imagine Corrin being pleased to leave her behind.</p><p>As they pass into the skull, Xander hears rather than sees the waters rush in behind them; and when they come out of the jaws, adjusting back to swimming in the coolness with the water pressing in against them, there is light down through the distance above them, penetrating now where it didn’t before. The untouched has become touched, or perhaps it always was. </p><p>The ring on his finger aches, burning colder than it was, and Xander begins to feel some dampness creeping in — Camilla’s short-notice charms could only take so much, it seems. Leo’s best off, since his wasn’t used until just now, but all the same there are unspoken agreements traded in the glances around the tight-knit group of them. Best not to linger. They swim up, fast and hard, pulling each other along with an urgency that there wasn’t before. Xander will be <em>very</em> glad when they’re shot of the ocean.</p><p>If the trip was half as long as it had been going down, there might have been trouble, but perhaps the space has changed. The sky and the light are closer than they were. Heads break water one after another, and all abruptly it’s only pond, the bottom of it close and squishing beneath their feet rather than the endless deep it had been just a moment ago. </p><p>Sakura is there, hunkered down by the edge, and as they surface her face goes from pinched worry to a brilliant smile in barely the work of a moment. Elise lunges out of the water to tackle her, laughing, and Hinoka goes after them and the three roll through the shallow mud with joy loud and raucous trailing them. </p><p>With great dignity, Takumi splashes past them and toward land. “Roll around in the mud if you like, I want to get out of here,” he says over his shoulder. He misses Hinoka making delightedly rude hand gestures at him, although Ryoma’s tired reprimand probably tells him what happened neatly enough. Kagero and Saizo show up rapidly, both in wolf form, one from the house and one from the little garden where the horses are, and immediately they’re gathered up among the Morimoto siblings, leaning tiredly against hips and breathing contented wolfy sighs. Xander, perhaps, envies them a little.</p><p>Camilla comes out of the nearby house after Kagero, hair pulled up and a tired smile on her face, and honestly, Xander doesn’t think; he walks right out of the water and into her arms, and with some amused fondness Camilla tugs him close. “It’s good to see you’re safe,” she says in his ear. “You look like it hurt.”</p><p>Xander nods to that, because what else can he do or say at that point? He still hears in distant echo the screams of the one whose heart Corrin now carries, and his hand aches terribly, and if he thinks about it too hard he can still see the stricken look on Ryoma’s face...</p><p>But they are all here, which is among the best possible outcomes. Xander breathes deep and steps away from Camilla so she can make those faces at Leo instead; and indeed, once her tender mercies have been loosed on him, Leo’s cranky squawks of how he’s <em>fine</em> and she can get <em>off</em> him now are even better. Xander goes back to holding Elise.</p><p>It takes Leo a while to work himself free of Camilla, and he tries to set himself straight and proper as well as he can with torn clothes mostly soaked through. “We shouldn’t stay, if we can get back,” he says, stiff and dignified. “How did you get here?” </p><p>Corrin raises one hand. “The wolves ran,” she says, goes back to stroking the orb in her arms. “We made it like, um. A little wild hunt. And followed my blood tie to...” She looks down, swallows, stops talking. </p><p>“Ah,” Leo says, clearly. “We can follow that back, then. I think.”</p><p>“Mother and I can help,” Azura puts in, leaning around Corrin’s shoulder to peer at Leo with some mild interest. “We can’t stay here, can we?”</p><p>“Probably not.” Leo gestures behind them at the shallow pond that’s all that’s left. “Well— if you’re of this place you might be able to sustain it. But with this...” There’s another motion, this one at Corrin, encompassing her and her precious burden both. </p><p>Azura nods, eyes large and luminous. “Probably not,” she echoes in agreement, understanding what he sets forth. “...Mother isn’t awake yet. Can someone...?”</p><p>“<em>Not</em> you,” Camilla says, as Xander starts for the little house. “Don’t think I didn’t see that hand, Xander.” </p><p>Xander desists, frowning. It’s not that bad. Elise slips up next to him to frown over it and re-tie the makeshift bandage he’d loosened earlier, and Xander winces. He will still hold it’s not that bad, but perhaps it would not be very wise nor enjoyable to carry a grown woman out of the wild lands. “The horses,” he says instead. “With the extra weight, we won’t be able to run.”</p><p>“That’s probably fine.” Leo sits down on the spot, Brynhildr open in his lap for him to page through. “We wouldn’t <em>want</em> a wild hunt on the way back, I think. Those end in fae realms and kidnap victims. I wonder if there’s a story we can tell to make it a little easier...”</p><p>Hinoka and Ryoma argue briefly, quietly, before Hinoka follows Azura off to get Arete, leaving Ryoma looking faintly miffed. Xander takes himself away to see about the horses before he can do something foolish like reach for Ryoma. </p><p>It occurs to him as he’s looking them over that he doesn’t know how long they were gone. It felt like hours, perhaps as long as a day; but they didn’t need to stop and rest, and Camilla doesn’t look all that much less tired than she did when they departed. Perhaps she slept?</p><p>The horses don’t look worse for wear, either. Xander murmurs softly to each one, the words coming easily now that it’s only horses to hear. Brocade pushes her head against his chest and startles a laugh out of him, raw and a little sharp for its suddenness. </p><p>She does make a try at eating his shirt in the moments after, but on the whole Xander isn’t too worried. </p><p>He reaches in through the kitchen shutters to un-hitch the train of them — it isn’t too hard. Inside the house seems different somehow. Quieter, cooler, and still. No longer a home, Xander thinks idly, comparing to the strange stillness of the house in the human world with none of them in it. Does the absence of one person, even a comatose one, make such a difference? It must, or else he has nothing to account for that difference.</p><p>Another long pause to collect himself, head bent to rest against Brocade’s neck, breathing deep the familiar warm scent of horse overlaid with the stranger ones of sea-salt and wild spring. Then, when he can, he leads them back toward the chattering mass of siblings, old and new. </p><p>“I <em>wondered</em> when you were going to tell everyone about the horses,” is all Leo has to say before putting his head back down. Elise gravitates toward Brocade immediately, all entranced and cheerful; the wolves give the horses a courteous berth as before, with the exception of Hinoka, who comes over with her arms full of comatose fae woman to try to settle on one of the horses. </p><p>Xander helps as he can, although he’s wary of his injured hand mostly for the scolding Elise or Camilla will inflict on him. Hinoka is used to hefting around deadweight, apparently, but for all her many strengths she isn’t very tall, so the teamwork is the better option. </p><p>Arete has a stern face even in sleep. </p><p>They wind up calling Azura over as well, since it’s her mother, and sitting her delicately on the most placid of the horses, with her mother slumped in front of her. “Thank you,” Azura murmurs, looking bemused to be handed reins.</p><p>Hinoka shrugs it off uncomfortably. “Whatever,” she says, “you’re probably family, anyway. Mother can help take care of you ‘n her once we’re back.”</p><p>Azura looks at Xander, then, and he has nothing but a shrug to offer her in turn. </p><p>Leo’s standing up with a sigh not long after. “There’s nothing for it but to go toward the woods,” he says. “Elise advises me the trees are wrong, but there are enough stories about traveling through the woods and winding up somewhere different that I estimate it’s our best course, especially with nebulous magical properties in play. And, of course, it’s away from the water. Shall we?”</p><p>Elise mounts up with Camilla, Leo neatly behind Corrin, leaving Xander alone on Brocade. The Morimotos, variously, pass their rings off to Camilla before shifting down to four-legged forms. Xander’s eyes are drawn to Ryoma’s shape — he really can’t help it. Easily Ryoma is the largest among the wolves, and there are new marks in his fur now, pale white lines through the dark fur along his face and one leg. Lightning-marks. Xander only looks away when Ryoma turns toward him, heart too quick in his chest to bear whatever he might see in Ryoma’s expressive face. </p><p>They head toward the woods at a slow pace, accounting for tired wolves and burdened horses. The trees are definitely wrong. Xander can’t lay a finger on why, but they just aren’t <em>correct</em>. Perhaps he’s looking for the almost-familiar woods around the Morimoto house and finding nothing. Perhaps there is a fundamental failure to behave as trees do. Perhaps...</p><p>Perhaps a lot of things. There are strange sounds behind them, stranger than the sound of hooves in dried leaves and solid earth. Xander doesn’t look back, having already learned this lesson: but he wonders if there will be anything left of the houses behind them to show that people once were here. </p><p>The trees grow closer together. Leo, at the front of the group, murmurs something that sounds like cursing and flips pages in Brynhildr. “I don’t suppose any of you thought to leave a trail of breadcrumbs?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t birds just eat the breadcrumbs, anyway?” Corrin says. One of the wolves toward the front of the group snuffles through the debris on the earth and points their nose a little to the right of the current heading. </p><p>“Quite technically,” Leo says, “but as we <em>are</em> trying to get to the witch’s house—"</p><p>More than one of the wolves rumbles, ears pricking up. Leo sighs deeply. “For the sake of the fairy tale, do please bear with it,” he says. “<em>Moving on</em>, barring a precise trail back, we shall endeavor to lose ourselves in the woods, and in theory come out the other side. Try to refrain from sniffing too many things.”</p><p>One of the taller wolves — not Ryoma, but Saizo by the reddish coat — comes up beside Leo and takes a deeply pointed sniff at his leg before sneezing on him. Leo’s horse skitters sideways, the whites of her eyes showing. “Be careful,” Xander says, raising his voice to carry. He should be pleased that the wolves are getting over their wariness of the horses enough to tease, but not right now. Not when they are nearly home.</p><p>The woods grow dark, and the woods grow deeper, and it’s easy for worry to set in around the edges, with their group all full of the tired and the injured and incapacitated. But: </p><p>Xander trusts his brother to find them the way, and he never feels so uncertain that he stops them; and eventually, eventually, there is a light at the other side of the forest. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0061"><h2>61. rare drops</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: grief, rumination on death/murder, considerations of past violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When they emerge out of the other side of the trees, it’s ground Ryoma knows, woods he grew up in, and he has to bound ahead and roll over in the fallen leaves to cope with the sheer weight of his relief. </p><p>Everyone who went has come back, and then some. They have more family than they bargained for. There are more complicated feelings under that, things Ryoma thinks he might have to be human to look at properly, but he doesn’t want to, and so he doesn’t. </p><p>The wolves among them race ahead, now that they’re on familiar ground. It occurs to someone — not Ryoma — to circle back, judging by the variance in paces and how many packmates are with him when he starts wrestling open the big lower wolf door. And once he has the door open, Mother is waiting there, and for a while Ryoma forgets to think about anything else practical. Pack is here <em>pack is here</em> and no one is lost. He and his siblings crowd around her, and Mother puts aside her careful lines of embroidery and bends her head to greet them. Tails wag and tongues lick, the joy of movement writ large in wriggling wolves and Mother’s laughter, and Ryoma is reassured that everything is, if not <em>well</em>, then improving steadily.</p><p>All shall be well, in time.</p><p>When the not-wolves get back to the house, Mother goes out to greet them too. Ryoma trails her for a while, tail still wagging, the euphoria of <em>home</em> all through him. Siblings are here, too, brushing against his side, pressing long against him in reassurance. And Mother smiles — oh, how she smiles to see her sister! Her niece! — although for some reason her scent and her face both do something complicated when Corrin holds out to her the heart that she has brought.</p><p>Ryoma will make sense of that when he’s human. He’s sure he knows what it is, he just can’t seem to think about it right now. He sniffs at her hip, at her hands; at <em>Corrin’s</em> hands, heavy with the salt of the sea and something else. Corrin nudges his nose away and Ryoma touches her elbow instead, checks in on everyone else. Brothers and sisters all around, each themselves in their own stages of affection and reassurance, and the scent of sun-warmed earth and cedar and soil and <em>Xander</em>...</p><p>Without even meaning to, Ryoma bolts into the house, into the depths of their den, rather than face any of that. He manages to contain the confused twist of his heart until he makes it up to the attic — the stairs had been left pulled down, and there is still the makeshift bed they had set up there. The air is thick with the remnants of Xander’s scent, in among the blankets, and there Ryoma loses the battle against feelings, flops down among them and whines heavily. Why can’t he have <em>this</em>. Why is he afraid of what he wants, why does it all ache and rub and feel too sharp to hold on to.</p><p>He refuses to change, but the wolf heart doesn’t know what to do with all this complication, only knows that he wants what isn’t there with him. Ryoma sticks his head under the blankets and spends the last of his conscious effort on containing his howling to very <em>quietly. </em></p><p>His heart hurts. </p><p>A while later — he’s not sure how long, only that he dozed off so it could be any time — someone throws something at him. It hits his flank and bounces off; Ryoma startles upright, finds his head under blankets, and flails wildly in abrupt irrational panic until the present someone, Hinoka by scent, wrestles the blankets off him. “Honestly,” she says, sitting back and folding her arms. “If that’s how you’re going to be about me bringing you food.”</p><p>Ryoma puts his ears down, thumps his tail once. </p><p>The food she brought him proves to be a sandwich. In a ziploc. Ryoma looks at this, then directs his very best betrayed look in her direction. He’s either going to get plastic on his teeth or he’s going to have to shift. How could she do this to him. </p><p>Hinoka sits down a few feet away, apparently utterly unconcerned. She both looks and smells like she’s had a chance to bathe; her hair is darker with dampness, sticking every which way, and she has jeans and an assortment of tank tops rather than a torn yukata. “I think you fell asleep up here,” she says casually, continuing to put on a pointed lack of care. “If you’re cranky, everything will look better when you’ve eaten <em>something</em>.”</p><p>What Ryoma would <em>like</em> is a nice deer. He noses at the sandwich. It’s thick, he notes. And he can catch the scent of meat even through the ziploc. Hinoka has, thoughtfully, loaded it down with protein. And he does have convenient blankets right here, since apparently he <em>has</em> to have thumbs if he wants to eat... </p><p>Casually Hinoka angles herself a little further away from him, at least appearing to offer privacy. </p><p>Ryoma sighs heavily and drags himself slowly back into human form, one aching, unhappy motion at a time. Blankets are mercifully easy to bundle up in, at least enough for now, and like this he can crack open the ziploc and get at the sandwich. Hinoka’s probably right. He hasn’t eaten a full meal in — a while — and there have been a lot of shifts, among other things.</p><p>He tastes three distinct different meats in the first bite, and by the second has promptly decided that he’s never tasted anything this good, and he needs to eat it all, <em>right now</em>. </p><p>“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Hinoka says comfortably, and leans back on her hands to wait.</p><p>When he’s made the entire sandwich vanish there’s a silence that isn’t quite awkward, but feels like it could turn that way very quickly. Ryoma hesitates, drawing the blankets up more securely around him. He doesn’t know which conversation this is going to be; he doesn’t have any concept of what conversation <em>he</em> would like to have, if any. Mostly he would like to turn back into a wolf and hide under the covers, but it’ll be harder to dig around in the kitchen freezers for additional meat if he does that. </p><p>“Corrin and Mother have gone out,” Hinoka says eventually, clearing up the issue of which conversation this is. “Azura stayed here. Leo wanted to debate with them about it, but Mother was pretty sure — they’re going to bury the dragon-heart-thing out somewhere in the woods. I get the feeling there’s something about renewal and second chances in there somewhere, but honestly, I’m just glad it’s not in the fucking house.”</p><p>“—how long <em>have</em> I been asleep?” Ryoma wonders, eying her sidelong.</p><p>Hinoka shrugs. “I dunno, I had a nap too.”</p><p>Helpful. Ryoma wonders where Xander is — wonders if he had come up to the attic at all. But no, his scent isn’t fresh. And he has the guest-room with Leo...</p><p>“The König house has not magically been rendered livable over the last couple of days, so we’re pretty much stuck with them for the foreseeable future,” Hinoka adds, intuiting the direction of Ryoma’s thoughts. “We might have to draw up a custody agreement for Corrin. It’s fine while they <em>are</em> stuck here, but when they can move back out...”</p><p>Ah. Yes. That <em>is</em> going to be a problem. Ryoma bites back a groan at the thought of having to be the level-headed one in those discussions. He won’t know how to be, but if Mother’s sad and Takumi and Hinoka are hardly given to even tones — and it would be unfair to put responsibility for the harmony of their two families on Sakura and Corrin... </p><p>He’s going to wind up holding the bag, isn’t he. Ryoma puts his face in his hands. Just for a few seconds, really. </p><p>“Yeah.” Hinoka pats his shoulder. “Yeah, me too.”</p><p>Ryoma laughs into his hands, unexpected and indelicate, and then draws himself up to put himself back together. “All right,” he says. “That’s not a now problem. What about Leo?” Something that hadn’t quite set right with him from the fae lands strikes him again, and he tilts his head at her, studying more closely. “Did the scent-bond actually break?”</p><p>Her expression sours. “He’d been putting the wolfsbane under his pillow at night instead of keeping it on him. There are such things as pajamas with pockets! He could have put it on a string! But <em>no</em>, he had to improvise—“</p><p>“I’ll take that as a no,” Ryoma interrupts, cutting off the rant before it can get too very far. “Is he behaving appropriately now?”</p><p>“Huh?” Momentum gone, Hinoka just gives him a perplexed look. “Yeah, it’s fine, we cleared it up, he’ll finish out the break and that’ll be that.” </p><p>It had seemed, from her complaints, like a larger problem than that. Ryoma holds up his hands in surrender and subsides. </p><p>“It worked out for the best <em>this</em> time, at least,” she says, gesturing broadly with one hand. “So I’m not going to hold it against him. Anything <em>else</em> stupid he does will be a different discussion. What about <em>you</em>, though?”</p><p>Ryoma goes tense, sees immediately where this is going and can’t think of a way to head it off. “What <em>about</em> me?”</p><p>“Kind of thought you’d go right for Xander.” Hinoka says it like it’s just something obvious, some fact of the world: the sky is blue, water is wet, Ryoma gravitates toward Xander. </p><p>He wishes she wouldn’t. “It’s complicated,” he says, and rubs a hand across his eyes. He doesn’t <em>want</em> it to be complicated. Can’t that be enough? </p><p>“It’s the Dad-zombie thing, isn’t it.” She nods, sighs. “I know I don’t really remember Dad that well, not compared to you, but—"</p><p>“It’s not a competition,” Ryoma interrupts.</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em> for a second.” Hinoka flaps her hand at him. “I’m not writhing in inadequacy or anything, <em>thanks</em>, you can put it down. I just mean maybe it hits me less, that’s all, but I was still right up there ready to murder the König when you started making eyes at him. So it’s fair to be awkward about it, I guess, but— none of <em>us</em> could have done what needed to be done there.”</p><p>“I know.” Ryoma’s voice cracks. He hates the feeling, emotions leaking out around the edges when he can’t do anything about them and resolution is out of his reach. “It’s... no. I don’t blame him, not really. I just can’t get the image out of my head.” </p><p>There’s a long silence where they don’t look at each other, where Ryoma can guess Hinoka is looking for some justification, some turn of phrase to cheer him up. “...yeah,” Hinoka says finally, having evidently come up with nothing. “Yeah, that’d be... I’m glad I went for Leo.”</p><p>That effectively kills the conversation for a while. Ryoma goes over the ziploc again in the hopes that he missed some lingering piece of meat, but no such luck. Hinoka topples over backward, sprawls out on the attic floor as if it’s the most comfortable thing in the world and sighs deeply. </p><p>Ryoma feels approximately the same way, and a few moments later matches her, tangled in the blankets and staring up. There’s nothing above that really merits interest — just old boards, old patterns — but it’s a good space to think. </p><p>Or not-think, as his thoughts keep straying to and then shying away from all the things below the water: the skeleton and the revenant. Ryoma covers his eyes with his forearm, blocks out what light there is and thinks instead: the future, the miracle of Corrin back. Sometimes lost things are returned— no, that’s not a good line of thought either, not when the concept of his father’s corpse walking again is right there. </p><p>And so many of his imaginings for the future want to involve Xander...</p><p>“You’re thinking so hard I can hear it,” Hinoka complains, and reaches over to shove at his elbow. “Think about fluffy things.”</p><p>Ryoma shoves at her shoving hand in half-hearted revenge. “We’re both fluffy. It’s not helping.”</p><p>She harrumphs loudly. “Then go talk to your favorite scent and stop torturing yourself by chewing on the thoughts. Things like that aren’t good to chew on.” </p><p>The impulse strikes him, but his gut tenses, his heart sinks. It seems... Ryoma doesn’t know. Heavy. Impossible to imagine getting through the weight of it. “I’m not going to go and ask him to make me feel better,” Ryoma says, unexpectedly quiet through a voice that doesn’t quite want to work. “He’s been through a lot. His whole family has. I can manage.” </p><p>“You’re so <em>stupid</em>,” Hinoka says, in her most affectionate tone. “I hope I’m never this much of a martyr about <em>whoever</em> I settle down with, and if you say anything about a scent-bond to me I’m going to bite you.”</p><p>“Aren’t you going to bite me anyway?” Ryoma is only joking a little. The next time they get to wrestling her teeth are entirely going to be somewhere on his limbs. This is not unexpected.</p><p>“Well,” she says. “Yeah. But, you know. <em>More</em>.”</p><p>Ryoma laughs quietly at that, and then rolls over to bury his face in the blankets instead of staring at the ceiling. It’s a different kind of unhelpful — Xander’s scent lingers here, after all. But better that, to be focused on, than looking upward and seeing nothing but flashbacks. “I’ll talk to him eventually,” he says, muffled through cloth. “Just not right now. All right?”</p><p>“Hey, I’m not the one you have to justify it to.” Hinoka’s voice has a shrug in it. It’s funny she should say that, given that she’s the one who started prodding him about the concept in the first place. Still—</p><p>Well, sometimes little sisters do know what’s best. Ryoma gropes blindly sideways until he finds her, pats whatever bony portion of his sister he’s managed to locate. “You’re helping,” he says. “Truly.”</p><p>“I guess I could stick around to nag you a little longer,” she tells him, all-over impish and smug self-satisfaction. </p><p>That isn’t quite what Ryoma meant, but as he likes the outcome he’ll let it slide.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They spend a while there, honestly, but Hinoka doesn’t leave without him; she nudges Ryoma up and out, and when he complains about being indecent she scoffs and passes him a blanket. He doesn’t shift wolf. It’s tempting, very tempting, but it won’t really <em>help</em> anything. Just put it all off for later.</p><p>...Anyway, the wolf instincts are more likely to bolt from Xander than the human-shaped Ryoma is. He’d prefer not to do that, at least conceptually.</p><p>It’s easier once he’s gotten moving. He finds pants in his room while Hinoka loiters outside the door, and then the kitchen provides food. A <em>lot</em> of food. Hinoka joins him in the construction of another monstrous sandwich. Ryoma keeps trying to think of what <em>else</em> needs to be done, what he might need to pull himself together for, and keeps coming up peculiarly with nothing; or at least, nothing that can’t be handled by someone else. Every query he lobs at Hinoka has an answer. </p><p>Xander’s injuries? Handled by some combination of Leo and Sakura. Horses? Handled first by Camilla and Corrin, with — apparently — crotchety contributions from Takumi, which frankly Ryoma would pay to see and is a little miffed to have missed, and then next by Xander to take them back to the ranch which is actually designed for them. Azura and Arete? Settled in for now, Azura to look after Arete and Arete herself still apparently comatose, but improving. Informing the pack of ... whatever else might need to be passed along to them? Ryoma, please, Mother already handled that before she left with Corrin.</p><p>Ryoma subsides disgruntled with a mouth full of venison and half-scowls at Hinoka across the table in the kitchen breakfast nook. She makes a show of being unconcerned. “We can function when you’re out of commission,” she tells him. “That’s a <em>good</em> thing. That’s how a pack is supposed to work. Why are you being such a fussy puppy about this?” </p><p>“...I feel strange without something to do,” he says. That doesn’t entirely encompass the fact that something to do and focus on would neatly edge out the opportunity for images of the deeps to creep back in — Father and the sword through his chest somehow worse than the older memory of finding him — no. Ryoma chokes that line of thought off and stands up, restless. </p><p>“I’ll give you something to do,” Hinoka says, the ultimate in sibling judgment. “<em>Go take a shower</em>.”</p><p>...ah, he supposes he hasn’t bathed since before they left. Ryoma turns his head, sniffs at himself, vaguely wrinkles his nose. It’s not <em>that</em> bad, is it? “That won’t take me very long.” </p><p>“It will if you wash your hair.” She ruffles her own short crop up pointedly — it’s already dry and fluffy. </p><p>Ryoma makes a face at her. That’s exactly the sort of alone-with-his-thoughts he’d prefer to avoid. But he can’t entirely say she’s <em>wrong, </em>when he’s now very aware of the weight of his hair against his neck and down his back, and how relieving it would be to get clean... He hesitates, wavering on the spot. </p><p>Hinoka narrows her eyes, sizes him up. Ryoma settles his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to move if she lunges for him. Hinoka shifts her weight from one hip to the other. </p><p>The prelude to some sort of wrestling argument is broken by Mother and Corrin, both of whom have clearly just come in from the outside, judging by reddened cheeks and dirty hands, and the scents that accompany them. They must have used the human back-door and come straight here, and Ryoma doesn’t blame them, but it does mean that now he and Hinoka have to <em>behave</em>. </p><p>“There you are,” Mother says, smiling. It looks at first like the same old smile, the one that’s pained around the edges, the one she puts on because if there is no alternative but to feel some sort of pain she would prefer to have a smile — but something in the tilt of her head and the shift of her scent makes Ryoma think some weight has been lifted. </p><p>He never wants to tell her about seeing Father the way he had; and if his siblings are at all sensible, they won’t be talkative on that front either. </p><p>Ryoma manages the same sort of smile for her, and then Mother comes and hugs him. He bows his head to inhale gently — Mother’s scent is a comforting one, and has been for as long as she’s been part of the pack — and holds her close, manages barely not to object when she steps away to rustle through cabinets. “I could have sworn we had hot chocolate mix?”</p><p>“Uh,” Hinoka and Ryoma say in unison, and they split off to help search, while Corrin crouches down on the floor, holding her knees, to <em>laugh</em>. </p><p>Hinoka beats him to it, bouncing to knock a box off a higher shelf and catch it when it falls into her reach. Nobly she sets it on the table instead of throwing it at her brother. “Now tell him to go take a shower,” she says, and there is the briefest flicker of a moment where she is very, deeply mature, and sticks her tongue out at Ryoma.</p><p>Mother has her politest face on when she turns to face Ryoma. “Your sister’s right,” she says. </p><p>“<em>Thanks</em>,” Ryoma says, flat but unable to quite make it sarcastic. It’s just—</p><p>Showers are a leading cause of being alone with one’s thoughts, after all. He doesn’t really have an excuse now, though. He could... ah, he’s sure that if he was desperate enough to <em>ask</em>, Hinoka would sit outside the door and ramble nonsense to him. Nonsense or judgmental diatribes only about 15% genuinely serious, which is close enough. </p><p>He isn’t afraid enough of the solitude with his thoughts to ask her, which is telling enough that Ryoma nods to his family and steps out without further argument. </p><p>No one else passes him on the way back to his room, no opportunity for him to change his mind and ask for any company, anything at all. Probably for the best. The motions of stripping and hot water and starting to wash are mechanical, not really lingering over them even though a hot shower should be among the best joys after the week there’s been. </p><p>Ryoma’s mind is somewhere else entirely: fathoms deep, with his father and the cruelty of it all. Why couldn’t it have been anyone else—!</p><p>Well, because their mother had died in a hospital, in human form, and her blood wasn’t tied to theirs in the same visceral, urgent way that Raijintou makes the line of descent. Because people don’t die in these woods, because their pack takes their stewardship seriously and hunts only what’s needed, keeps people out by all the mundane and magical ways available to them. Because Sumeragi was werewolf, like the vast majority of them, straddling the balance between wild and cultivated; and that balance had tilted. Because the magic that had been in him all his life is in Ryoma, now, and he cannot imagine those sorts of things don’t leave a mark.</p><p>He knows, with all these reasons, why it happened. His heart still wants to scream for it.</p><p>Try as he might, with no other distractions left Ryoma’s mind drags him back, presents the images again: the pallid familiar face, the man who had once towered over him rendered as someone he could equal, the scents of sea and death that covered the woodsmoke and ozone that had been him before. The sword that pinned him through, bloodless but ending regardless. </p><p>He wants to think his father smiled at him — that in the end there was something more than the twisted-up rage, the grief of the dead who have lost their life writ in the body twofold by Anankos and Sumeragi’s shade both. Ryoma can’t say for sure if he’s fooling himself: the sword of the memory is the larger part. </p><p>—ah, but that, too, tells him something, doesn’t it? Ryoma straightens from where he’s hunched over, blinking water out of his eyes with the surprise of it. He wouldn’t have been able to sort it out without looking at it, but: the sword carries more weight than Xander, in the thoughts Ryoma has of it, though it was Xander’s hand, Xander’s stricken face looking up all terror-grief-regret. </p><p>It lifts a weight from his shoulders. It tells him: this is something he can bear, and on the other side he will stop flinching, one day or another. Perhaps speaking to Xander will be difficult — Ryoma realizes belatedly, a touch guiltily, that he has no concept how Xander is handling any of this. All of this. How it had affected him...</p><p>He still shies from going to Xander immediately, but the idea is easier than it was before, like a wound that’s scabbed over: something that still pulls, but is no longer immediately tearing. Ryoma has no doubt all will be well in time.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Xander's side of this span of time next chapter, I promise I haven't forgotten about the Nohrfam. ; )</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0062"><h2>62. taking fair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: continued grief and grieving, mention of past child abuse, typical Nohrfam issues</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All told, once they’re back at the Morimoto house, Xander can’t be <em>surprised</em> that the wolf who is Ryoma bolts. His heart, the whole of his chest aches, but little more than it already had. </p><p>In that distraction, and then the subsequent flurry of motion that is Camilla  and Azura drawing Arete off the horse to carry her to Mikoto, Xander almost forgets his hand is injured — again, still — until he’s moving to see to the horses and an unthinking grip draws a line of pain across his palm, followed quickly by the warm of seeping liquid. Xander hisses, recoils cradling his hand to his chest, and immediately once he’s done that finds Leo looking exhaustedly dubious at his elbow. “I cannot <em>believe</em>,” Leo says, and catches Xander’s wrist to drag the injury where he can see it, practically before Xander’s even managed to think of hiding it from him.</p><p>Once Leo’s got hold of it, there’s no fighting him, and Xander doesn’t really have the energy to, anyway. “We’re not taking you back to the same hospital, they’ll open some kind of investigation we don’t need,” Leo says assessingly. “Let’s see... is Sakura still here?”</p><p>Most of the wolves — the ones who aren’t Ryoma — are still here, a tangle of wagging tails and furry bodies pressed close around Mikoto and Corrin, so closely it’s hard to tell which one is which. But at Leo’s words there’s a wriggling, and a shifting of mass, and a smaller wolf, with the reddish coat and long-legged build that identifies her as Sakura, squeezes free of the rest of the pack. She moves toward them — pauses — turns around on the spot and looks up at Mikoto.</p><p>“Yes,” Mikoto says, “One moment—" And she peels out of her outer layer, a long embroidered housecoat, and leans so she can toss it over the wolf. After that her attention is all for her sister, unconscious and limp, and the girl with her, and Xander really can’t blame her.</p><p>Sakura shifts under the robe, comes up with her arms through the sleeves and tugging the cloth snug about her. She’s near to swimming in it, and she looks just as tired as Leo does, but she pushes her sleeves up and leans in with determination. </p><p>“Oh, I can help, I can help—" Elise bounces over in short order, and Xander winces. This is far more people than he had hoped for. Together the three of them bend over his hand, gentle touches uncurling his fingers and unwinding the makeshift bindings. </p><p>At least he doesn’t have to look at the injury while they’re considering it. “It’s, um.” Sakura hesitates. She’s quieter than anyone else, and Xander needs to strain to hear her. “It’s stopped bleeding, but it’s still not very clean...”</p><p>“Didn’t you have some sort of a salve?” Leo says, addressing her brisk and direct. </p><p>Sakura ducks her head anyway, as if he’s looked at her too strongly. “It can help... some, but, um, it’s not <em>very</em> magic. Just a little.”</p><p>“A little is enough,” Leo says through a yawn. “I don’t know much about healing, either, but if whatever you have is based on plants, we can give it a boost. Xander, come on.” </p><p>“The <em>horses—</em>" Xander says, or tries to say, given that he’s being tugged off by three siblings at once. Mikoto watches with some amusement, and makes absolutely no move to help.</p><p>Perhaps that is helping.</p><p>“We can look after them for a <em>little</em> while,” Camilla says loftily. “At least enough to keep them safe until someone’s in good enough shape to take them back to their ranch. Don’t worry, Xander.”</p><p>He has to worry, but he can’t find any way to really say that either. She already knows it, after all. Corrin waves after him, and a few of the wolves sniff thoughtfully in their wake, and as Xander is pulled inside and around a corner the last he sees is Corrin squeezing free of wolves to go to the horses with Camilla.</p><p>The three siblings handling him make the entire tending of his hand kind of a blur. Sakura takes them up to the guest bathroom and shows them where everything necessary is. Over this she tells Leo about the ingredients of the salve, a dutiful listing of ingredients and proportions which has Leo making a grudgingly impressed face that sticks out in the wave of events-passing-by. The three of them confer over Brynhildr for a while.</p><p>Cleaning the injury stings, sharp and bright, but in a way that seems— certainly not bad. Promising, rather; it’s a familiar sting. The applied salve is only warm at first, and rapidly begins to tingle, passing warm into hot. “There,” Elise says cheerfully, and high-fives first Leo, then Sakura. “It’s bedtime now, right?” </p><p>Xander can’t help but laugh. Leo’s mouth twists fondly, and he makes shooing motions at both of the girls. “Something like that. Go on, I can take Xander from here.”</p><p>Elise wrinkles her nose at him for a moment or five. “If you’re sure,” she says finally. “You were <em>kidnapped</em>, you know.”</p><p>“I did notice,” Leo tells her. “Your concern is noted, but unnecessary. Go on.”</p><p>When they’ve gone, Elise bouncing at a slightly reduced height and Sakura trailing her with a tilted head, Leo slumps against the counter next to Brynhildr. “You wouldn’t even tell me if you weren’t all right, would you? Xander?”</p><p>Xander regards his brother, and it feels like it’s from a great distance — this probably isn’t entirely a good sign, he processes perhaps belatedly. But: Leo has the right of it. There are too many years between them, and too much habit of protection and the fear for his safety, for Xander to put any of these weights on Leo if he can avoid it. </p><p>But of course he can’t just <em>tell</em> Leo that he’s hiding things from him, and so Xander says nothing, cradling his now-bandaged hand against his chest. </p><p>“...That’s what I thought,” Leo says into the terribly long silence, and he shakes his head. “We’ll just have to compromise. For now, can you—" He breaks off, bites his tongue, and Xander sees in the moment that there actually <em>is</em> something Leo’s having trouble with. “That is, I desperately need a shower, I’ve touched more seaweed and entrails than I ever want to again, but I think we’ll both be more comfortable if I’m not out of your earshot.”</p><p>This Leo is entirely correct about. Xander nods, surveys the bathroom — it’s comfortable, but there’s not much in the way of accoutrements beside toilet, sink, countertop, and shower. There’s nothing for it but the floor, so Xander shrugs lightly, turns around, and sits, leaning against the heavy solidity of the cabinets beneath the counter. He has to straighten up almost immediately after to unshoulder Siegfried, get the makeshift leather harness off over his head, and carefully lean the sword in the corner; but then Xander just leans right back into the same place. </p><p>Behind him he hears Leo snort quietly, without other comment.</p><p>They don’t talk for a while. He doesn’t feel any lighter for having set Siegfried down, more’s the pity. While Leo attends his business, Xander listens attentively: the shift of cloth, the running of water and the change in tenor from tap to showerhead, the various rattles of bottles and hands. The heat of the water, steam and all, fills the room, sinks into Xander’s bones. He hadn’t realized he was cold until now, not really, and there are more than a few shivers as he warms up, shaking off the lingering touch of the dark and the deep, everything so many miles and miles below the surface, below the sun. </p><p>—ah, his earring is gone. Is he glowing? Xander looks down at his hands and frowns vaguely. Not glowing, so either it’s daytime or he’s very, very tired. Potentially both. But all their earrings are gone into the safe-travel rings Camilla had made. It’ll be difficult to go out after dark until she makes those again, and it’s the time of year when darkness is long and daylight scant.</p><p>There are worse things than to be living in this house, at least. Xander likes it here — it feels of warmth and family, and it couldn’t be more different from his family’s home if it tried. He’s sure they <em>are</em> trying for that, if not in as many words. It’s just that... well, Ryoma. </p><p>Ryoma himself is a good thing. Xander can think of no place he’d rather be right now than beside him, quiet and solid and held and holding. But: he remembers too well the stricken look on Ryoma’s face, the terrible mirror to Sumeragi’s. Intentionally or not, to save others or not, Ryoma has still watched Xander kill his father. </p><p>Xander wonders many things about the future. If that moment will stand between them or not; if he will ever bear to live in the house that was his father’s again; if Camilla and Corrin can handle the horses for the moment or if he should rouse himself to go back down there. ...this last is perhaps more pertaining to the immediate situation than next week, next month, or the nebulous someday, but it’s something to consider all the same.</p><p> As well as the matter of taking them back to the ranch. The same way he had brought them here will suffice, Xander thinks, reviewing the logistics in his head; but it would be nice to have someone else along the ride, and doubly nice if that person were Ryoma.</p><p>...no. He’s not going to make that worse right now. He’s going to wait for Ryoma to signal that he’s — perhaps not okay, but sufficiently at peace with talking to Xander — and for now, give him whatever space he needs. Elise can come with him; Xander had promised to show her the ranch, after all, and now there is no need to hide it at all. </p><p>She’ll love it.</p><p>“That’s terrible posture,” Leo says from behind him. Xander flinches in surprise, startles upright from his slumping lean against the cabinet. He hadn’t heard the water cut off; apparently he’d been deeper in thought than he had known. “Ah, at least you’re not sleeping like that. Xander...”</p><p>Even and especially without facing Leo, Xander can hear the unspoken question of <em>are you all right</em> hanging in the space between. It doesn’t make it out to the air — Leo is already well aware he won’t get an open answer. Xander gets up, anyway, reclaims Siegfried from the corner where it’s been leaning. It shivers softly in his arms when he does. </p><p>In the guest room, while Leo settles Brynhildr under his pillow as one accustomed to sleeping on ancient tomes, Xander sets Siegfried on top of the dresser, gentle about how he handles it. Once he’s fumbled through the issue of pajamas with a hand that doesn’t want to grip right, by habit he steps out of the room, intending to move up to the attic. </p><p>He remembers that he shouldn’t impose on Ryoma only when he’s already on the next floor up, stops himself in the middle of the hall and just — stares blankly at the wall. Where <em>is</em> he going to go, then? The original intention with the division of rooms was for him and Leo to share a bed, but Leo isn’t a graceful sleeper, and Xander is of a mood where he doesn’t exactly want company.</p><p>Company that isn’t very specific company, anyway.</p><p>Feeling halfway between an intruder and a ghost, Xander ranges downstairs. If the living room with its nest of couches is unoccupied, or at least only mildly occupied, perhaps he can claim a spot there. Surely one person won’t take up so much room that the rest of the pack will find themselves put out. </p><p>It takes him a few tries to remember where it is, but once he’s found the living room it’s dim, empty of people at least for the moment. Xander continues to have no idea what time it is, and is about ready to sleep until he wakes up. He turns on one light, just enough to see by, and surveys his options for sleeping. There are quilts draped over a rack in the corner, and while none of the furniture is shoved anywhere he can have a wall at his back, it transpires that he <em>can</em> liberate some of the cushions. He fumbles them once or twice, owing to the hand issue, but manages to set up an impromptu bed against the wall furthest from any entrances.</p><p>The liberty taken as a guest is perhaps a bit much, but he can apologize later. Xander tucks himself into the makeshift bed and makes every attempt to pass out.</p><p>...it doesn’t happen, for all that his body is aching and his mind blanketed with grey weariness. Instead everything starts to catch up to him, and he winds up with thoughts racing, imagination tracing as far back as the day their father had died. Things that might have been done differently...</p><p>Ah, but try as he might, Xander can’t think of another way it would all of ended. Not really. He can summon up vague images of Father changing his ways, becoming who he had been, but they aren’t solid things — like clouds of mist, those thoughts vanish when they’re subjected to the slightest nudge, too unreal even to feel like dreams. The closest he comes is their original plan — the one where they had been in and out, gotten what they needed with Father never the wiser, and Xander had taken custody of Corrin and Elise and they had never, never gone back. In that particular daydream somehow all their two families live here, the pack house suddenly magically suited for another five or six people, and Father never comes into it. Not once.</p><p>He is sure Father smiled at him, a long time ago; but was it really so long ago that Xander can’t even summon the image of the memory?</p><p>Xander isn’t surprised to find his cheeks damp. He buries his face in the quilt he’s wrapped up in and breathes through the ache in his eyes, the squeeze of his chest. He doesn’t know when his father died, but— it was long before Leo stopped his forward motion.</p><p>That doesn’t make Xander feel much better, but at least he can admit it to himself.</p><p>Somewhere in between grief and analysis of <em>what might have been</em>, Xander dozes off into sleep. It’s a fitful sleep, one he drifts in and out of, vaguely aware of other things happening but not enough to do anything about it. He barely feels like it <em>is</em> sleep, except that time surely passes. There’s a brief period of awareness where he recognizes that there’s a wolf cozied up to him, close enough to be a heavy warmth against his side, but ultimately too small to be Ryoma, and Xander can’t muster the willpower to open his eyes to check what color wolf it is. </p><p>Still, after that he sleeps a touch more contentedly, warmer about the heart than he has been. </p><p>At least twice more he rouses to find a wolf <em>nearby</em> if not actively touching him, though he couldn’t say if it’s the same one each time; but when he finally does struggle all the way out to wakefulness, feeling calmer if not <em>better</em>, there isn’t anyone sleeping beside him, though two wolves are curled up with each other across the room. He’s glowing faintly, too.</p><p>Much to Xander’s chagrin, he has to admit he still has no idea what time it is, even based on that. </p><p>He rises — wobbles — puts things back where he found them. One of the two wolves stirs enough to watch him, eyes catching luminous with the reflection of Xander’s own light. Xander inclines head and shoulders — the wolf nods in turn — and Xander stumbles out of the den in search of the guest bathroom, and hopefully a <em>clock</em>.</p><p>The windows he passes along the way assure him it’s dark outside, which is sensible but not helpful. In fact, it takes until Xander has cleaned himself up and then found his way to the kitchen that he finds an actual clock, which tells him it’s past three in the morning. </p><p>He <em>also</em> finds Takumi, who looks at him with honest surprise for a baffling moment or two before reverting to something scowling, his brows drawn down. “There’s food in the fridge,” Takumi says, giving the lie to his expression, and vanishes into the pantry.</p><p>This explains nothing. </p><p>But Xander <em>is</em> hungry, so he gingerly goes to the fridge— ah. Which fridge. </p><p>“The one on the left has good sandwich stuff!” drifts out of the pantry. Xander takes this under advisement and finds himself refrigerated bread and cold cuts. </p><p>There’s a little nook in the kitchen, a window seat with closed curtains blocking off the dark outside and a table in the middle. Xander checks for wolves, just in case, and finding nothing settles himself down with a paper towel and the hastily constructed sandwich in question. </p><p>Takumi has not emerged from the pantry. Xander wonders if he’s <em>actually</em> looking for something, or if it’s just a convenient hiding spot. This produces another mild crisis of decision — to uproot himself and take the sandwich somewhere else on the off-chance his presence actually <em>has</em> offended, or to wait so as not to be rude to one of his hosts?</p><p>He over-thinks that issue enough that Takumi appears again, a small bundle of granola bars in hand, and flings himself into the seat opposite Xander. “No emotional conversations,” Takumi says, still frowning at him.</p><p>Xander pauses over his next bite. Not what he had expected Takumi to lead with. “...all right,” Xander finally says, when Takumi’s stare makes it evident that some sort of answer is required, and he goes back to eating. </p><p>They have their not-quite-four-am breakfast like that, in a strange and fragile silence. Takumi finishes off one granola bar and doesn’t start the second, instead tapping it between the table and his palm in an irregular rhythm. He finally speaks when Xander’s just finished his sandwich, and it’s abrupt, sounds almost as if Takumi didn’t plan on speaking at all. “Did anyone show you where your sister put the horses?”</p><p>Xander shakes his head, suddenly unsure whether to be concerned for them or not. </p><p>Takumi bounces to his feet, just on the careless side of graceful. “Come on, then,” he says. “Don’t worry, it’s too cold to have left them outside, they’re safe and all.” His nose wrinkles. “It’s going to smell of horse for <em>months</em>.”</p><p>As Xander is possessed of an <em>inkling</em> of social graces, he manages to stifle a laugh.</p><p>It turns out that the horses have been temporarily stabled in that big half-basement room where the wolves had come into the house when they returned, the one with the big outside door and plenty of preventative measures against mud and dirt. Bridles and leads are hanging on a peg near the door, though no one has un-tacked them — probably reasonable, Xander considers, given who was available, and he can take proper care of them when they’re back home where they belong.</p><p>Takumi hovers near the door back to the rest of the house, watching Xander with a sort of caught-motion stillness, the sort that suggests he’ll spring into motion again at any given time. “...so, yeah,” Takumi says, when he realizes Xander is looking back at him. “We didn’t know what to feed them, if they need it. We don’t have hay or whatever lying around, and we’re kind of short on grass. What <em>do</em> horses eat?”</p><p>“Grasses, tender plants, grains,” Xander lists off, the words untroubled and simple as something he’s known for years. “If you have uncooked oats and some raw vegetables that can be spared, that will tide them over for now.”</p><p>The fluttery stillness turns contemplative. “Yeah, I think I saw something in the pantry.” Takumi nods, apparently better at ease now that he has something specific to do. “Let me take a look. Um, probably someone can help whenever you need it to get them back to your ranch, but it’s ass o’clock, so maybe give it a few hours?”</p><p>At this Xander <em>does</em> laugh, even if it’s a quiet chuckle under his breath. “Thank you,” he says, clear and careful, and Takumi takes that as his cue to vanish in search of oats. The offered olive branch carries a certain weight, especially given everything <em>else</em> that must lie between them — Xander barely knows Ryoma’s brother, but he has enough grasp of how the death of their father affected the siblings, and the general fierce protectiveness of the wolves, to be sure even without the scowling that Takumi is hardly Xander’s largest fan. </p><p>So: he’s making an effort. </p><p>Everything else is — easy. Xander’s almost suspicious of how easily events and people fall into line to accomplish what’s necessary, and it’s only the sheer exhaustion of the last weeks and the sense that surely <em>some</em> things must go right which keeps him from questioning it further. Takumi helps him feed the horses, with a minimum of conversation between them but a tension in the empty spaces that slowly, slowly eases; various wolves and humans poke their noses through the door for curiosity or concern at various times of wake-up. </p><p>Xander forgets he’s glowing until he’s not, until the light ebbs out from under his skin probably of a piece with the timing of sunrise. Elise mumbles in not very much time after that, still looking a little dozy; she immediately brightens at the horses, and goes to coo at the nearest one. Xander can’t help but smile to see her, despite the weights that still settle on his shoulders. “Would you like to go with me to take them back to the ranch?” he asks, quiet and serious. </p><p>Elise cheers in a way which is not at <em>all</em> quiet, and then her stomach grumbles. She slaps a hand over it as though to shut it up, blushing furiously. “Let me eat something first,” she says. “You don’t want more people?” </p><p>He’s not sure he could bear more people, honestly. He had chosen calm, docile horses — as calm as horses are ever prone to getting, at least. They’ll follow Brocade. Xander <em>could</em> go on his own.</p><p>But it’s easy to run from things. If he goes on his own, it may be tempting to stay at the ranch, in his little living space there, bare and spartan as it is. There he wouldn’t have to face the difficult issues of his family’s home, and who will go where, and whether Xander can even go home again, and if Ryoma can bear to touch and be touched by him. </p><p>It would all be a non-issue, there. Just him and the horses, and the intermittent presence of staff who are easy enough to dodge...</p><p>That’s why he’s waiting for Elise. It is perhaps a selfish deployment of a baby sister, but it will serve to prevent Xander from being genuinely foolish. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0063"><h2>63. the weight of living</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content notes: grief, mood whiplash, brief non-explicit nudity</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryoma doesn’t see Xander the next day.</p><p>Or the day after that.</p><p>It’s not like they’re days filled with boredom and languishing. For one, Xander had to go and take the horses back to the ranch and see to <em>them</em>, and Ryoma wouldn’t be surprised if getting through the woods, taking care of them, and then making the drive back took most of the day. So that’s normal. Ryoma checks in on his siblings one by one, manages not to scold Sakura for sneaking along with them only because Mother’s already done it.</p><p>While Xander’s away Ryoma also checks in on <em>Xander’s</em> siblings, just in case. If there is a future together they will be his, as well; and besides that each of them has grown on him in their own unique ways in the meanwhile. Camilla remains the most inscrutable of them all — Ryoma can’t quite wrap his head around the way she is with her siblings, and it’s not just because no one in his life has that sort of over-the-top demonstration of sweetness.</p><p>He <em>means</em> to just look in on her and ask if she needs anything — Elise is with Corrin and Azura, leaving Camilla to some several moments of peace — but somehow when she asks after the way to the kitchen it just seems more sensible to show her than to give her directions; and from there Ryoma winds up finding things for her and lingering around instead of going about his own way. He’s not even completely certain way. Maybe just the timing of her questions, her careful conversational intercessions.</p><p>At this rate he’s half expecting a talk about her brother, but it never comes. Camilla takes him through a half-hour-long digression on smithcraft and its similarity to baking instead, and Ryoma hands her ingredients and tries not to feel as if he’s just being swept along in the wake of a river, even though that’s almost certainly what’s happening here.</p><p>Somehow it <em>helps</em>, is the thing. He stands there with his ears full of concepts like carbon content and drop forging and which metals are best for use in hypoallergenic jewelry, and his heart winds up the lighter for it, even if he swears he isn’t going to retain half of what she says.</p><p>There’s a lull while cookies are in the oven. Camilla, at odds with her generally dignified and impeccably tidy image, sits down on the floor in front of the oven, legs folded up. This, too, is a sort of a forge, Ryoma has grasped, and her attentiveness to it not the strangest of habits she might have developed but rather something of a piece with the rest of her work. </p><p>It’s a good opportunity to get up and leave, to go on with... whatever it was he was doing. Instead Ryoma sits down next to her, mirroring her posture with a bit of allowance made for longer legs. Camilla smiles over at him, visible eye crinkling at the corners with it, and abruptly it seems like the most genuine expression she’s made. “You’ll do,” she says.</p><p>That makes the first real reference to his — admittedly a little ambiguous — status within their family. Ryoma props his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “Not that I don’t appreciate the judgment,” he says, “but what makes you say that?” </p><p>In the oven, lumps of dough gradually begin to change, a sort of alchemy created by heat and the work of human hands. </p><p>“You’re taking the time to do things right,” Camilla tells him. She leaves her gaze on him only briefly, returns that attention to the baking cookies in short order. “That’s a good thing. You can’t leave cookies in the oven for <em>too</em> long, of course. Once they’ve burned it’s hard to recover them. But that’s the case with many things. Overstress the metal you’re working with, and it won’t ever have the same tensile strength, no matter what you do with it. And that’s just a sad waste of good materials.”</p><p><em>Now</em> the metaphor is blatantly, blindingly clear. Ryoma manages a wry smile despite it all. “Neither too short, nor too long,” he says by way of agreement. “Yes. I understand.” </p><p>“Good,” she says. “Now. I like to listen to music while I watch. Any recommendations?”</p><p>To which Ryoma is forced to admit that he doesn’t actually settle down to intentionally listen to music a lot, and will take pretty much any randomized ‘easy listening’ radio station; and Camilla takes theatrical offense to that and bestirs herself specifically to retrieve her phone, so she can make up an educational list for him.</p><p>It feels, if Ryoma is honest, very sisterly. </p><p>In the end it’s several hours, several cookies, and a few distinct playlists later that Ryoma extricates himself from the kitchen. Dinner will be a meaningless thing at this point, so he wanders off to check in on everyone else. Leo is very busy reading in a way that suggests he would rather not be bothered, Hinoka is doing something aggressive with weights while Takumi goes over his makeshift dragon-bone bow near enough that he can be qualified as <em>with</em> her but not close enough to be an annoyance. Elise and Sakura, it transpires, have both wound up in the greenhouse despite that the sun is long since down, so Ryoma gently reminds them that it’s dark out before going on his way. </p><p>That leaves Mother, and Corrin and Azura. Ryoma follows his nose part of the way, finds that they’ve all collected upstairs with Arete, who still seems to be unconscious, stretched out in Mother’s bed. She looks better than she did, back when they first saw her in the other lands; but she still seems frozen and inhuman, something oddly untouchable compared to Mother. Azura is perched in the empty space beside her, curled up around a book, lips moving softly as she reads half-aloud. It looks like someone has lent her modern clothes, but they’re a bit large on her bird-bones frame, and her hair doesn’t look <em>quite</em> as much like a waterfall in motion as it had there.</p><p>Corrin is sprawled across the foot of the bed, her chin braced on her forearms and her bare feet lazily kicking behind her as she watches Mother — Mother is in the chair beside her, and — Ryoma listens carefully for some moments from his place in the doorway — telling stories of Sumeragi and Ikona, in the times before everything had gone wildly, horribly wrong. </p><p>Well. Not <em>wrong</em>, for Ryoma doesn’t regret his raising, and he doesn’t regret his Mother or the way his siblings have turned out, all proud and stubborn and loyal. But there should have been more people there than there were. </p><p>In another time he would likely stay and listen, and offer his own contributions. Right now it makes his throat close and his eyes sting, and he drifts back out of the doorway, excusing himself.</p><p>“—wait, Ryoma!” Corrin falls over herself scrambling to get up, and she comes to greet him, bouncing nervously from foot to foot a few paces away from him. “You don’t have to go, I mean, you’re not interrupting anything, if that’s what it was, we’re all just kind of... waiting. Azura says her mother’s going to wake up eventually now that everything’s sorted, she just needs time to rest.” </p><p>She is trying so very hard, this little sister of his. Ryoma manages a smile for her. “Ah— no, it’s fine. I just wanted to see that everything is well here. I’ll get out of your hair.”</p><p>“Oh, okay.” Corrin sizes him up for another long moment, and then darts in to hug him anyway, a quicksilver there-and-gone thing of her arms around his waist and the staticky prickle of curls gotten everywhere. “Come back if you want, okay?”</p><p>“All right.” Ryoma probably won’t, at least not in the immediate future; but if he <em>does</em> have the urge, at least he knows he’s not unwelcome. He glances to Mother — she’s watching him with a sort of somber understanding, and at catching his eyes she inclines her head, slowly, just the once. Yes: this, too, is understood.</p><p>Ryoma excuses himself in a hurry, this time to go and curl up in the attic as a wolf and... and what? There’s nothing he’s <em>doing</em> there, nothing he can constructively put hands to and nothing that will take up his mind and thoughts and burn emotion out the other side clean. The drive for motion bites at him like a thousand grumpy itchy things, and finally Ryoma unfolds himself from blankets that still smell faintly of Xander and takes himself outside. This is not entirely graceful, as he lunges down stairs and grapples with handles that he’s in too much of a rush to slow down and paw properly, but no one sees him.</p><p>Outside the moon is high — a couple of days past full, it still shines all bright and silver through the leaves overhead, flanked and echoed by the starlight. His paws crunch satisfyingly through fallen and dried-up leaves and needles, and when he starts to run his claws dig into the earth beneath the litter and turn it up, mixing earthier scents with the crisp cool catch of the night air. Ryoma runs for the joy of movement, not for any place or goal in particular, only the idea that if he moves his legs fast enough, drives himself hard enough, the cloud that hangs over his heart will disperse. </p><p>All things considered, he’s not surprised he winds up in the little clearing where his father is buried. </p><p>They hadn’t been able to follow any human processes, and so they had taken care of the matters of graves themselves — Ryoma, thirteen and not at all strong enough nor fortified enough in the heart, but insistent on doing something anyway; Mother, dry-eyed and still in the way of a frozen grief, one too stunned at all that had been lost to weep yet; Kagero and Orochi, the former younger, the latter not really any different at all, helping with the heavy lifting and the embraces that were necessary. Sumeragi is buried here beneath a grand old pine, the site marked with a stone. </p><p>Ryoma had come here a lot, back then. Less so in recent days. Now he flops down just next to the spot and heaves a great sigh, stirring leaves with his breath. </p><p>There’s a weight to this place, and always has been, but he’s never felt like his father is <em>here</em>. Only that grief is, the weight of loss not only of a husband and father but of everything he should have been part of; like the different path that might have been theirs is buried here with the body of a wolf. It’s unfair, and cruel, that the last time Ryoma would see him would be the revenant below, bent to violence by the last breaths of one afraid to die.</p><p>He tilts his head back and howls, and there is no answer. Some not insignificant part of him wishes for one, but that part will perhaps never go away. Perhaps it never needs to: all of that yearning and past is Ryoma, after all, one way or another.</p><p>He sings there for a while, calling for someone who will not answer, telling the night about it all. Nothing changes except that the moon rises higher, and the stars are brighter, but nevertheless when Ryoma finally stops and puts his chin down on his paws he <em>does</em> feel better somehow. </p><p>Father’s presence or not, Ryoma stays there a while longer, ears pricked and listening to the many and varied wonders around them. The moon has long since passed its zenith and is tilting toward something lower when he finally bestirs himself, and his path home is a gentler, loping one, more appreciative of what’s around him than running fit to hunt or flee. </p><p>He’s also hungry, he discovers when he gets in through the back door, considerately left unlocked for him. He hadn’t stopped to hunt.</p><p>Well, it’s what — three? Nearly four in the morning, says the red-glowing digital clock hung on the wall next to the door. Most things are quiet. It’s simplest to be diurnal, even when some of them are just night people, to the eternal difficulty of the early risers. Still: the gist of that number is that probably no one will notice if Ryoma gets himself a midnight snack. </p><p>He pads into the kitchen with soft paws and a care not to let his claws tick too loudly on the tiling. The big chest freezers aren’t useful to him right now, and it’s going to be difficult to get the fridge open with paws...</p><p>Ah, no one’s around to care. Ryoma shifts human, grimaces at the pang of hunger, and cracks the fridge open to rifle through it in a hurry. There’s always a good variety of meat, although it looks like they might need either a shopping trip or a good thaw soon... He makes a mental note to check in about those logistics tomorrow, since Mother might have set something in motion that was lost in communication amidst everything else, and then reverts to expediently grabbing some of the presliced cheese and meat. He only needs thumbs for as long as it takes to open them and close the fridge, at least.</p><p>He’s so focused on the fridge issues that he doesn’t hear footsteps; and he’s so focused on the food that he doesn’t catch the human scent until he closes the fridge, and abruptly cedar and warm earth and sunlight rushes into his nose in the following gust of air. </p><p>Xander stares at him in soft golden illumination, eyes wide. Ryoma becomes deeply aware that he is fully naked with a not insignificant number of turkey slices clenched in his teeth. </p><p>In his defense, he hadn’t thought anyone else would be here. It’s a ridiculous hour of the morning. </p><p>“Ah,” Xander says blankly. Ryoma stands frozen for embarrassingly long before it occurs to him that he can solve this problem very easily, and turns into a wolf. A wolf with a mouth full of turkey, which he devotes several moments to eating as fast as he’s physically capable of. Xander’s light doesn’t recede, so Ryoma can only conclude he stays where he is; and indeed when Ryoma has swallowed the last of his food and is running his tongue along his whiskers to collect any molecules he might have missed, Xander moves toward him instead. Only a few paces, but it’s enough. Ryoma’s tail thumps against the fridge a few times.</p><p>Xander hunkers down to wolf level, a respectful distance away. “I didn’t mean to disturb,” he says carefully. “I can. ...Go?”</p><p>Ryoma shakes his head deliberately from side to side before he can second-guess that impulse. Now where <em>is</em> the nearest stash of robes and blankets... Honestly, this is the best time they’re going to get. </p><p>He paces in close, one careful step at a time. Obligingly Xander extends a hand as if in invitation; Ryoma leans in to lick his fingertips ever so gently, hopefully conveying the <em>wait a moment</em> he’s hoping to. Once that’s handled he scoots past Xander, claws scrabbling faintly on tile, in search of enough cloth that they can have a conversation without distraction.</p><p>Even if it’s not so much a conversation as an existence in not-quite-easy peace together.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0064"><h2>64. nailed it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xander doesn’t know what to make of the way Ryoma had licked his fingers and darted off. He also can’t quite pull his mind away from the image of — <em>Ryoma</em>. No clothes to be seen, and barely any light, only the soft gilding of Xander’s own glow, and is <em>that</em> what it would look like when— when—</p><p>That’s getting <em>very</em> far ahead of himself, when Ryoma’s just bolted past him like something’s on fire. Xander takes several deep breaths, one after another, counting through them to steady himself, and slowly stands up. Remembering what he had come down here for in the first place takes some doing, after that. It’s a logical train of events, though: he’s awake at four o’clock and some in the morning because he’d kept himself up with over-thinking, and then when he’d finally passed out it hadn’t lasted long at all, and finally he’d given up and decided to see about an early breakfast before... before something.</p><p>He’d had plans. </p><p>Now it’s taking a little bit of effort to actually look at the refrigerator, because his face keeps heating and his mind’s eye keeps backtracking. It’s an inconvenient way to recall that, past all the weariness and anxiety and the threats they have had to devote themselves to, Xander is in fact very attracted to Ryoma. </p><p>Somewhere in the middle of this quandary, Ryoma turns up again, still in the act of tying a fluffy pink robe around his waist. It looks like it was intended for a smaller person, judging by the length of his legs under it and how much of his forearms are visible, but it’s certainly harder to become overwhelmed by his looks this way. Xander manages to stifle any amusement under the sheer relief that Ryoma came <em>back</em>, that the flight was about this and not about something like not being able to bear being in the same room.</p><p>In retrospect, even saying that in his own head sounds a little foolish.</p><p>“I didn’t think anyone would be awake,” Ryoma says sheepishly. “Do you want the light?”</p><p>Xander shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He has some light of his own, after all.</p><p>Ryoma lets his breath out, just enough of a sigh to be heard, and pokes around the cabinets. There seems something aimless about his gestures, like he’s just filling space: an excuse to be where he is. Something in Xander’s chest loosens and tightens all at once and for different reasons. “You’re up early,” Ryoma says finally. In the open cabinet he’s moving things around in, there’s a heavy <em>clunk, </em>and Ryoma swears quietly.</p><p>“Couldn’t sleep,” Xander admits. “I thought...” Ah, but he’s not even sure what he thought, and for a moment his throat closes up as words desert him again. It’s been easier than it was, but not as easy as it <em>had</em> been. </p><p>He knows it takes patience — think of the time it had taken him to train himself out of the stutter in his youth — but even so, he does not <em>want</em> to be patient about this. </p><p>Ryoma shrugs lightly, the broadness of his shoulders doing strange things to the pull of the pink fuzzy fabric. “You’re welcome in our kitchen, for whatever you need. A guest should never go un-fed,” he says seriously, and then there’s a cascading series of bangs that has him yelping. “Who <em>stacked</em> these— oh no—"</p><p>Xander loves him a little bit for that graceless flailing, the utter lack of dignity as he scrambles to put the boxes and cans back in order; and more than that the way Ryoma doesn’t seem to <em>miss</em> dignity either, only throws himself at the task of organizing with determination. Xander is reasonably sure, watching, that more things end up on the floor than began. “Do <em>you</em> need the light?” he asks finally.</p><p>The shake of Ryoma’s head is more visible in the shift of his mane than anything else, but then Ryoma pauses — holds something up to his face — sighs. “Yes. The switch is on the far side of the— hell.”</p><p>Fortunately, Xander has already seen the switches, and a little careful examination leads to more useful light overhead. “Can I help?” </p><p>“If you can tell who booby-trapped these shelves...” Ryoma huffs. “No, I can manage it. Don’t let me get in your way, unless you need something from this...?”</p><p>He’s not certain if he does. “...pepper?” Xander offers up, at a loss for what’s actually in that cabinet. </p><p>More rustling and clattering ensues. Ryoma steps away from the cabinet with a number of assorted jars cradled in the crook of one elbow, and a pepper mill of some reddish wood in the other. “Here.” He sets it down on the counter near the stove, and goes back to putting things in some kind of order. </p><p>Xander regards the pepper mill; regards Ryoma, all pink fuzz and the long thick mane of his hair over that, as he goes shoulder-deep into the cabinet. No course of action that will lead to emotional resolution immediately presents itself.</p><p>Instead, Xander makes eggs. Scrambled, to be precise. Pans are in a logical place, and he knows where the refrigerators are, so eggs and cheese aren’t hard to find either. This time he faces into the chill without dwelling <em>too</em> long on the image of Ryoma in the same place, in very different clothing or lack thereof. </p><p>There was... a great deal of skin.</p><p>Not dwelling on it. Right. The easy motions of scrambled eggs take over, with Ryoma’s faint grumblings and clatterings a peculiarly contenting backdrop. If not for the hour, Xander could imagine this for— how long? Months, certainly; years, maybe. Forever...?</p><p>It might be a bit soon to be thinking about <em>that, </em>and if he focuses on the nebulous future for too long he’s going to burn the eggs. Xander saves those, scrapes everything into a bowl and seasons it appropriately. Pauses, looking over to where Ryoma is apparently just finishing up putting the cabinet into an order he likes. “I can make some for you as well?”</p><p>Ryoma hesitates visibly over the offer, but in the end nods. “I didn’t know you cooked.” </p><p>Xander goes back to the fridge for additional eggs, starts the process over again. “Some,” he says, lines up the narrative order quickly in his head so he’s less likely to fumble it. “There were staff at the house more often, when I was younger, but later... Father didn’t. Mm. Didn’t like having other people around.” He stares down the thought of his father in his head, refusing to cower at even a thought <em>now</em>. “So they came less often, and only to clean—although there were premade meals left for us…”</p><p>Mercifully Ryoma jumps in where Xander trails off. “So you — and Camilla? — wound up taking care of yourselves and your siblings.”</p><p>Staring down at the cooking eggs, Xander nods. “The internet made it easy to learn at least... basics.” They’d each picked up a little, in overlapping ways to minimize the overall effort, and then when he had begun to slip away to the ranch he had picked up a few more things, things he could do for himself easily in a tiny kitchen. Not perfect, but some.</p><p>“It’s hard to imagine.” Ryoma tucks himself into the breakfast nook, out of the way of any cooking. “Even after Father died, Mother looked after us, and where she couldn’t for— one reason or another— there were others of the pack who stepped in.”</p><p>Xander’s breath catches and holds at the almost-casual mention of Sumeragi. It seems like a good sign — isn’t it? Very quietly, he says, “I’m glad.”</p><p>And he is, honestly: he had his siblings, of course, but there are times looking back now that feel terribly lonely, and if Ryoma never had that, always had this house full of warmth and closeness despite everything else, then <em>good.</em></p><p>“I’m lucky,” Ryoma says clearly, into the quiet, and Xander honestly isn’t sure if Ryoma heard him or not. “I’m well aware of that. Xander...”</p><p>Xander manages to make some sound in acknowledgment that he’s listening, but Ryoma doesn’t finish the sentence immediately, and Xander finishes off scrambling his eggs as well. Ryoma hadn’t said anything about what he likes in them; given the option between outright asking and simply guessing, Xander opts to make these just as his, and brings two identical plates to the table. </p><p>There’s something in the way Ryoma’s looking at him, all melancholically thoughtful, that gives Xander some concern for whatever Ryoma might be about to say. He busies himself finding silverware, but that can only last so long when Ryoma points him at the drawer in question, and eventually Xander simply sits down to eat his scrambled eggs and wait.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ryoma says. It’s the sort of tone that’s relatively quiet, but loud for the silence it’s spoken into. “I wondered... ah, you don’t have to have an answer now, but I was wondering what you plan to do now. You and your siblings,” he adds hastily. </p><p>Xander has not missed that the initial query was for his sake, and his alone. And the first answer to mind is simple — he doesn’t know. It takes more thought than that to put it out into the world, though, and so rather than go with his impulse he stops to think it through.</p><p>The first answer is obvious: go back home, for a given value of home. Except for how it doesn’t entirely feel like a home, all full of the shadow of his father instead of things like Elise’s giggles or Leo’s books. Camilla’s forge... closer. Hers, not Xander’s, but he’s spent enough time sitting in its corners or helping her hold things in place while she works that it sits better in his heart. </p><p>And honestly, it’s a house too big for even five or six of them. Something occurs to Xander then — well, why <em>not</em>, after all? He’ll have to talk to his siblings about it, but they could just— sell it. Get something smaller and more suited to them. The only catching points will be making sure all of Camilla’s setup and equipment is transferred safely, but with Father dead, they won’t precisely be hurting for money to throw at reliable contractors and new spaces. </p><p>And national parks and nature reserves, Xander considers briefly, but that’s beside the point right now. To do <em>that</em>, he’d have to know about Father’s will, if he left one. Father had seemed, at one point, convinced he would never die.</p><p>Through all this thinking Ryoma waits patiently, taking the time to make the scrambled eggs vanish as well. His only inclination of a change is to shift his focus when Xander straightens up; other than that, Ryoma might have seemed content to wait there for hours. “Once his... death is settled, we should find his will,” Xander says. “Each of us has some of our own resources, but it will be easier if Father’s...” </p><p>He’s going to have to spend some time dismantling Father’s business, too. Not that Father had put very much time and effort into it, in recent months, but Xander doesn’t want the business practices perpetuated. Unless one of the others has some interests in overhauling everything, top to bottom... If it were up to him, he would simply have done. </p><p>There are some things he can hand off, and some things he won’t. Xander shakes his head to clear some of the previous line of thinking and finally shrugs. “Much depends,” he says, at a loss for concrete plans. “Resources, what they want to do... I don’t know. I think...”</p><p>What does he think. Xander breaks off again there, looking for some concrete answer; hating, more than a little, the fact that he can’t find one, that all his certainty and the will to move forward decisively seem to have left him.</p><p>Ryoma reaches out, and Xander can’t quite process what he’s doing until his hand touches Xander’s, folds gently over. Instead of thinking Xander stares transfixed at this, now, which he’d half convinced himself was out of reach, based on what had happened... below. </p><p>Just like any other relationship he might have wanted to keep—</p><p>The realization comes heavy and hard, the weight of thunder to the light warmth of Ryoma’s hand. Xander closes his eyes and counts his breaths, afloat in a storm. He doesn’t <em>have</em> to look over his shoulder; he doesn’t need to fear that something will conveniently <em>happen</em> to remove this. Because it hasn’t, and nothing previous was an accident. Simultaneous weight and sudden freedom makes him nearly light-headed. </p><p>“Xander?” Ryoma, all careful concern and light touches. </p><p>His eyes squeezed shut, it’s all Xander can do to bow his head over their hands, just enough to touch Ryoma’s fingers. He doesn’t know what to <em>do</em>. And he needs to figure it out for himself. “I need— time,” he manages, which is inspecific but better than nothing. He means to say more, but there are too many thoughts, too many reasons — needs to not be depending on anyone, needs to learn to <em>believe</em> he doesn’t have to cling as if everything will vanish, wants to meet Ryoma as equal and date openly, honestly, before simply falling into the closeness it would be so easy to. </p><p>“Okay,” Ryoma says simply, before Xander can begin to put any of these into words. “I’ll be here.”</p><p>Xander looks up, startled by the ease of it, in time to see Ryoma’s mouth pull wryly. “Maybe not in the kitchen,” Ryoma amends then. “Odds are good for somewhere in the woods, though.” </p><p>For this Xander laughs, quiet and catching with surprise. “I don’t know... how long,” he says, when he has his breath again. “Are you all right with that?”</p><p>Ryoma props his cheek on the hand that isn’t holding Xander’s, contemplative. “It isn’t my favorite,” he says. “But I’m a grown man and a grown wolf besides, and I can think of no better pursuit for which to practice patience. Take as long as you need.” </p><p>It means more, seeing the way Ryoma watches him, and knowing the way he has done unwise things before in pursuit of simply being close to Xander. Looking across the table now, Xander has to wonder— what of the scent-bond, the magic that lures Ryoma toward him? Ryoma hasn’t seemed overly troubled by it recently, but there has also been a preponderance of trouble, nearly of the lethal variety, which would surely outweigh such a thing. Xander hopes. “The bond?” Xander queries, hoping his meaning carries.</p><p>Ryoma shrugs lightly, stirring himself only a little. “Strongest at first blush. Your scent is still— ah. Perfect.” A smile, one that paints warm creases at the corners of his eyes. “But I’m not so stupid about it as I would have been a few months ago. Don’t worry about it, truly; I would have told you if I wanted it gone. I’d rather keep this.”</p><p>They did, after all, speak of it before, and the agreement they had reached then still holds. Xander doesn’t say more, rather trusts to Ryoma’s judgment on this. He’s not sure if he would have been content with it himself, if it were him, and some part of the idea still seems vaguely worrying to him, but Ryoma knows more of wolves. </p><p>There are better things to argue. Xander bows his head briefly in acknowledgement. “And we will be here for some time, in any case,” he says. In other words: he’s not vanishing into the sunset tomorrow to seek a journey of self-discovery. It’s just... a hold on this thing, the deepening of intimacy between them, for a little while. </p><p>“And you’re invited for Christmas,” Ryoma says. “Your whole family; I think it’s probably the most harmonious solution, rather than arguing about who gets Corrin for the holidays.” </p><p>Xander doesn’t laugh about this, mostly because he can see the idea of a future where that would have been possible, and is glad it isn’t there. He just nods instead. </p><p>Ryoma breathes a sigh out that sounds like relief. “Good. Who’s going to be the hardest sell, on your side?” </p><p>Hard to say. Elise won’t be hard to convince; Camilla may prefer to avoid people outright for the holidays, and the Morimotos not yet family <em>enough</em> to slip in under her guard as friendlies. Leo it will depend on the scale of the celebration. “Camilla,” Xander decides out loud. </p><p>Ryoma squeezes his hand gently and loosens his grip, as if offering the freedom, but Xander doesn’t bother to brush him off, instead leaving that little point of contact while he picks up his fork with his other hand. “Yours?” he asks, one quick query before digging in.</p><p>“If Corrin’s there, that’s enough,” Ryoma says. “Otherwise, Takumi, but since it’s all for Corrin in the first place...” He trails off, nods to himself as if something’s decided. “Camilla, then. What does she like about Christmas? We can use that to persuade her.” </p><p>Xander, with a mouthful of egg, doesn’t answer immediately; but Ryoma, as he had mentioned, is content enough to wait for the time being. The very early hour means neither of them really has places to be, and so it’s easy to just stay there, trading little bits of somethings and nothings in snatches and otherwise existing in the promising pre-dawn softness of a full house together. Only when the sun rises to take its radiance back from Xander’s skin does either one of them bother to stir; and somehow at the end of it all, Xander feels endlessly lighter than when he’d began. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>we're going to cover a fair bit of ground coming up -- hang on to your hats, we're nearly done. :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0065"><h2>65. what i thought and what i said</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The König siblings wind up staying with the pack for another full week and a half, owing mostly to the necessity of their house being deemed <em>livable</em> again before they can go. Ryoma likes to think Xander would prefer not to go at all — and indeed there’s something softer about the way Xander looks at him as the pack pitches in to move belongings and people at top speed when it’s finally time to go — but it’s a moot point. Time, and space. He agreed that it was the best option.</p><p>Naturally, that doesn’t preclude Ryoma <em>wanting</em>. Only from doing anything about that wanting.</p><p>With the guest rooms empty, Ryoma swears the house is a hundred times quieter, even though the König siblings are hardly loud people. Elise aside, there are times each of them seems determined to take up only their own tidy little patch of existence, and absolutely no more than that; but no less, either.</p><p>He takes the blankets down out of the attic finally, though he isn’t going to wash them to strip the scent out of them until he absolutely has to. </p><p>He’s in the middle of moving them, just at the foot of the attic stairs, when he runs into Azura, and that’s very nearly literal. Like Corrin, she prefers to go barefoot, and it tends to soften the sound of her footsteps. She regards him with a remote sort of interest, and her gold eyes carry a weight Ryoma isn’t really sure how he feels about. “Can I help with something?” Ryoma asks carefully.</p><p>Azura thinks about it for a long while, finally points up behind him. “...Aunt says there are pictures,” she says finally. “I wanted to see. So did Mother.”</p><p>It isn’t really a yes or a no sort of answer to whether or not she does need help, but Ryoma supposes she’s family, after all, even if it’s a little more distant than some, and even if she is still occasionally side-along carrying her mother’s spirit while Arete and his mother repair the bond between body and soul in full. So: he puts the blankets down safely and takes her right back up into the attic. “Pictures of whom?”</p><p>“Sumeragi and Ikona,” Azura says, with none of the care around the topic anyone else would have had. “Aunt loved them, so... Mm. That’s why.” She nods, and in the brief motion the pale blue of her hair looks all waterfalls again before subsiding to something a little more believably human. </p><p>Ryoma finds himself appreciating her bluntness, and goes to find some of the photos that had been put away. Some of them are still out, of course, scattered through the house in reminder and love, but it’s rarely where they’ll naturally draw the eye. At first the wounds had been too raw, and then later it had just been habit to leave them in such places. Ryoma is, however, well aware that both Hinoka and Takumi have their own little private shrines, if only because he caught each of them in turn snagging the pictures off the walls.</p><p>Theirs is a consuming grief, if they let it be.</p><p>He sits down with Azura to go over the first book of pictures, reasoning that even if Arete is looking on — which is <em>still weird</em> — she won’t know who any of them are, either. There are some polaroids, one or two formal portraits, and the rest standard shiny photographs tucked into protective sleeves. Sumeragi and Ikona, a study in size contrasts — except that Ikona had still been more than capable of bench-pressing her husband, and everyone knew it. </p><p>Most of the pictures are full of laughter. Most of them are full of pack. Here and there Ryoma IDs people when Azura asks about them — a young Yukimura, Orochi looking exactly the same as she does now, the scruffy young adult wolf Saizo had been — but other than that he lets her turn pages silently, wondering vaguely if he should see himself out or not.</p><p>Eventually she closes the book, looks up at him perhaps quizzically. “Aunt is not in any of these.”</p><p>“Mother doesn’t photograph well,” Ryoma says. They’ve tried. It’s a side-effect of her wards, though, and she wouldn’t be without those, so they make do with what they can get. </p><p>“Mmm.” Azura considers this as well, going distant for a bit. “That’s sad, I think. That there is no record of how she was with them. Mother thinks it’s a necessary safety measure, and she’s probably right, or was right, but... it’s sad.”</p><p>“We remember,” he tells her. It isn’t as good a record as some, especially when Sakura and Takumi were pretty much too young to remember much at all of those times. But the stories are told. “Our children will know, too.”</p><p>“That’s better than forgetting.” Azura looks down at the book, brows knit. Eventually she hands it back to Ryoma. “I knew Xander and Camilla and Leo, when I was younger.”</p><p>Ryoma picks through that for meaning as he’s putting the book away. “Your mother did something to protect you, didn’t she?” Xander never had mentioned her; but Xander had induced himself to forget many things. Leo seems to be the one most intent on hanging on to things and piercing through veils. </p><p>Azura nods. “She never let me stay in the house overnight,” she says. “She had her own apartment. And she made everyone forget me, as much as she could.” She bites her lip. “I liked Xander. He was nice.” </p><p>Ryoma breathes out a quiet laugh. “He still is.”</p><p>“Yes.” She picks herself up off the floor, dusts off her borrowed skirt and thinks some more. “There aren’t any records of that time, either. But at least they’re still alive.”</p><p>Her peculiar bluntness helps some things and jabs Ryoma in the heart with others. “Do you wish you had gone with them, instead of staying with us?” </p><p>“Hmmm.” Azura looks around the attic, appearing to further consider her environment, and then starts down the stairs. “No, not really. What I wish is that I could have what I lost, but I think only Mother and Aunt get that, even a little. However they are now, however I am now, it will be different.” She reaches the lowest part of the stairs and hops down over the last few steps, landing with a muted thud and a little smile as she turns. “So I think... it’s good that I’m here. I’m just not used to people.” </p><p>Ryoma follows her down and picks up the blankets he’d earlier abandoned, tucking them into a neat-ish pile in his arms. Azura watches what he’s doing, but doesn’t ask about it, to his gratitude. “Mother’s glad you’re here, too,” he says, unsure what else to say.</p><p>“I know.” Azura tilts her head to one side. “I think I like wolves.” </p><p>At this Ryoma smiles wryly. “Then you’re in luck.” </p><p>Azura giggles, tiny and quickly caught, but a true laugh. She trails him down to his room, absently idling in the hall outside while he drops the blankets onto his bed, and when he comes back out she tilts her head at him again in mute inquiry.</p><p>Ryoma doesn’t know, either, so he shrugs helplessly and takes her to the library. She <em>does</em> know how to read, despite being secluded in a cut-off world for years and years, and so while he’s not about to loose her on the internet just yet he finds her some of the books he remembers Hinoka liking and subsequently hiding from him around the same age. This seems well-received, and if Ryoma lingers in the library for a while, well, he thinks they are probably both glad for the company.</p><p>Gradually, after that, Azura fits into the pack a little better. She’s distant sometimes, even when she doesn’t smell of too-cold air and mint and set hackles on end just by looking at someone, but generally Ryoma figures everyone is entitled to their own oddnesses. He makes it clear that if she needs help with anything, all she has to do is ask; and sometimes she does.</p><p>Corrin had gone with the Königs for that first week, but she’s back that same Thursday evening, dropped off by Camilla and all over bouncing, excited to see everyone and doling out rib-splitting hugs by the dozen. If not for the fact Ryoma remembers her as an infant, he might swear on the force of hugs alone that she was their father’s child. They’re splitting weeks for now until Christmas, was the agreement. There had been some bargaining, and Mother had looked quietly sad, and eventually Thursday evening through Sunday evening with the pack was agreed on by Corrin, to be rediscussed in the new year. </p><p>The house is much louder with her there. Ryoma misses Xander, but the opportunity to catch up with Corrin is just as valuable, and he throws himself into that whole-heartedly, up to and including holding very still for Hinoka to use him as a tutorial on the distinctions between wolves and very large dogs. </p><p>He breaks a few times to lick Corrin’s face, but everyone’s fine with that.</p><p>Gift shopping happens many, many times, because somehow Ryoma gets himself elected as everyone <em>else’s</em> secret-keeper. He doesn’t mind it, honestly. Especially when it’s Corrin that’s dragging him out to help her figure out what to get for pack-siblings, because she doesn’t know them all that well yet, and she <em>knows</em> she doesn’t have to get them anything, oh, but she <em>wants</em> to because it’s important to her, and at the very least he could help pick out Mother’s present...?</p><p>So Ryoma helps. Corrin updates him on Xander, on the apparently ongoing estate issues, on the concept of house-hunting which Ryoma has observed in passing on reality television but never experienced for himself. On the things Camilla has been making, on how Leo’s helping her figure out what she can do where Mother doesn’t have all the answers. Ryoma thinks of what Azura had said: that whatever had been lost, stayed lost. Whatever this is now is something different than it was.</p><p>He tries to meet Corrin as she is, not as the child he remembers, and he thinks he is more or less successful.</p><p>As for Xander, Ryoma thinks of him often. He’s hesitant to reach out, since Xander was the one who asked for space to begin with, but Xander solves the problem of wondering for him, starts to send pictures, little texts here and there. Pictures of horses, of sunrise or sunset; sometimes links to articles, or a simple note to hope the wolves run well. Not much, perhaps. Not long drawn-out conversations, not speaking late into the early hours of the morning for no better reason than to appreciate a little longer the presence of another person there beside. But it’s something, and Ryoma means that most sincerely. Xander might have said nothing at all. Like this, at least Ryoma knows for a certainty: Xander thinks of him, and reaches out.</p><p>For now, it’s enough.</p><p>The heavy lateness of autumn gives way to the crispness of winter. They mark the solstice in a cursory fashion — the moon is waning around this time of month, and while the turn of the seasons carries some undeniable weight, as wolves they give more sway to the arc of the moon. And besides, the König siblings are turning up the next day, which means more people, more sound, more food, and a hundred hundred holiday preparations to make with half the house suddenly pretending that it’s just too much work to stay human for longer than a few minutes at a time. Thumbs are in high demand, and tails in high supply.</p><p>And Christmas is... well, it’s Christmas. Ryoma half expects something momentous to happen, but possibly that’s just because Orochi’s been leaving the Hallmark channel on in her wake, like a particularly Christmassy scent trail, and the movies are nothing if not full of formulaic miracles. Xander comes with his siblings, of course, looking better than he has, and all injuries long since healed, and for Ryoma there are quiet embraces in corners where they are not about to be pounced upon by their various siblings, but: Xander doesn’t have to say it for Ryoma to understand that it isn’t the time yet. </p><p>This time, in the here and now, is about their families; about finding the places where they can fit together though their origins are disparate and the path behind is rocky. Xander is focused on their siblings, and if he’s honest with himself Ryoma is as well. So they don’t talk about a future for the two of them <em>specifically</em>, but they don’t avoid each other either, and Ryoma reserves a place in his heart for this quiet companionable closeness, when they are together without necessarily <em>doing</em>, only taking in moments.</p><p>He learns that he likes Xander in this way, too, when all is quiet and at peace: that he doesn’t feel as though he has to fill the silence with anything in particular. </p><p>The holiday goes by fast, a blur of family and family, of good food and the art of getting to know people in... relatively low-stakes circumstances, regardless of what Hinoka thinks of board games and the importance thereof. They’ve promised not to discuss heavy logistics until after the new year, at least inasmuch as it concerns Corrin, so there are any number of conversations turned aside to airy nothings or absurd debates to avoid it. Ryoma keeps half an eye on everyone just in case of conflict, but the most likely suspects — that is, some combination of Hinoka, Leo, and Takumi — mostly stay apart from each other, excepting one highly memorable situation where a gray wolf and a red wolf get into it over the dining table and topple off mid-wrestle to land in a stunned Leo’s lap. </p><p>They had beaten a hasty retreat after that.</p><p>Corrin spends a lot of time with each of her siblings, from both families, and Azura besides. Ryoma catches sight of Xander in quiet discussion with Mother more than a few times, but never from nearby enough to tell what they’re going over. He’s curious, naturally, but he can hold his patience. Probably. Camilla makes herself scarce sometimes, of a piece with Xander’s assessment that she’d be the hardest sell on extended socializing time with people she’s not deeply familiar with; but other times Ryoma sees her talking with Sakura, or with Takumi. On the whole, as Ryoma watches, it’s clear enough to see where tentative bonds are beginning to form.</p><p>And he doesn’t have access to anyone else’s text messages. Nor should he; but he suspects that in the streams of communication invisible to him, there are tens of other conversations, becoming a hundred little threads to tie them all together. That’s <em>good</em>. It’s the best outcome Ryoma could have hoped for, between their families: that things will change like this, for the better.</p><p>He still slips away during New Year’s Eve festivities, as the clocks draw down toward midnight. He’s not jealous nor sulking, <em>truly</em>. It’s just that he doesn’t want to be close enough to Xander to do something foolishly impulsive, and peace and quiet is a good thing when it’s grown warm and close and loud inside. Ryoma slips out to the grounds just beside the house instead, head tilted back to watch the stars in their slow motion and the shadows of the trees that stretch long and dark across the sky. </p><p>A second set of footsteps joins him before long. Ryoma opens his mouth, inhales long and deep, and as a result isn’t surprised when he turns to see Xander, smiling faintly toward him as he picks his way across the space between them. “I wondered if I might find you out here,” Xander says, gesturing with one quick wave of his arm as he does. “It’s colder than when we met.”</p><p>His skin has no illumination in it; somewhere in the interim Camilla has re-forged the charms they use to hide it. Ryoma can see the faint gold glimmer of an earring just under Xander’s hair on one side, now that he knows to look for it. He supposes it’s sensible not to get out of the habit of hiding it, when most humans in this world won’t be expecting glowing people, but all the same Ryoma misses that shine a little, and the accompanying sharpening of Xander’s scent. </p><p>“I don’t mind,” Ryoma says absently, too taken up in simply <em>looking</em> at Xander to put together a sensible answer about werewolf physiology. “I...” </p><p>He almost thinks that if he just starts the sentence, the rest of the words will follow, and then he’ll miraculously be left with a conversation. It doesn’t work that way, not when the things that he would want to say are all tangled up and more emotion than <em>words</em>. Ryoma finds himself stumbling over his breath instead, and sighs, and offers a lopsided smile by way of apology. “...Hi.”</p><p>Xander’s smile hasn’t gone anywhere. “It’s good to see you,” he says. “May I keep you company out here, for a little while?”</p><p>Ryoma nods, unable to find anything else.</p><p>And just like that, Xander falls into step with him, shadows Ryoma’s footsteps on the meandering path around the house he’s started himself on. As they pass over the driveway gravel crunches; the rest is soft footsteps. “Is there a good place to see the stars clearly?” Xander asks.</p><p>Ryoma has to think about that question for a little longer. The stars are good enough for him from here, but it’s true there’s any number of obstacles owing to being next to a house in the middle of the woods. He lifts his shoulders in a few moments. “There are some nice clearings, but not nearby, I’m afraid. The best we’re going to manage here is to get up on the roof.”</p><p>Xander turns a speculative gaze toward the house, assessing, and then nods. “Yes— I can see how that would be a problem, and we should strive to set a good example.”</p><p>Just barely, Ryoma suppresses a laugh. “Another time,” he says instead. “We’ll have clear nights like this in plenty, this winter. Even once it starts snowing. Whenever you like— ah, just not the full moon.” He won’t be very verbal company then.</p><p>“Another time,” Xander agrees; and for the moment, he reaches out and catches hold of Ryoma’s hand.</p><p>At first Ryoma thinks it’s just a casual brush of fingers, something that would naturally happen between two people who are walking very close to each other. Then Xander tangles their fingers loosely together, with just enough of a grip to say that he is <em>here</em>, and Ryoma reverses his assessment of intent. </p><p>It’s warm. Warmer than any human contact has any right to be, at this time of year. A warmth that seems to travel directly from hand to heart. Ryoma is <em>well</em> aware he’s being terribly sappy about one little thing, and therefore keeps that to himself as they amble the circuit of the house once more, stretching their legs and breathing mist out into the chill air. </p><p>Still: right now, he could not ask for more than this, and he is contented.</p><p>Xander stays outside with him for a while, longer than Ryoma would have thought given the weather and Xander’s lack of a coat. They stop near the back door, leaning against the wall to just look <em>up</em>, and in that peace Ryoma spends a long time thinking of absolutely nothing except Xander’s presence beside him, the warmth that emanates and the solidity of his being. </p><p>He would like this— always. Or at least for a very, very long time.</p><p>The cold makes Xander cave first, with a regretful sigh as he pushes off the wall and straightens. “It should quiet down once Elise and Corrin have gone to bed,” Xander says. “If you would like company where it’s warmer...”</p><p>Ryoma nods. “I’ll stay out here a little longer, but it won’t be very long.” He raises his free hand half-heartedly, as if to swear it. He’d go in with Xander, if not for the fact that he needs just a few more minutes to clear his head and breathe out any thoughts he might have about hotter things.</p><p>“All right.” Xander leans toward Ryoma, and, absentmindedly curious about what he wants, Ryoma turns his face that way. </p><p>Briefly, Xander’s mouth is warm on his, sweet and soft. Then Xander’s gone, warm earth-scent in his wake, and all abruptly Ryoma is going to need <em>several</em> more minutes before he goes inside. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>chapter title reference: Florence + the Machine, "No Light, No Light"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0066"><h2>66. at least i understood then, the hunger i felt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The remaining time they stay with the Morimotos isn’t as awkward as Xander might have thought. He wasn’t <em>sure</em> about how Ryoma would take his decision — he could guess, but he wasn’t certain — and the graceful, simple acceptance and moving-on made his eyes prickle with something between gratitude and relief. </p><p>It’s true, though, that he doesn’t spend as much time with Ryoma as he might otherwise have done, during those days. Instead it’s time with his siblings, making sure they’re all as well and unaffected by the excursion as they can be. At least, that’s what Xander’s doing until Camilla catches him at it, makes a mildly disapproving face, and then banishes him to the living room. “We’re fine, Xander,” she tells him, quiet and earnest, as she shoves him out of the guest room she shares with Elise. “And if Leo and Elise aren’t, I’m more than capable of looking after them myself. I didn’t go with you into the water, remember?”</p><p>And he <em>does</em> remember that, and he knows that Camilla has a logical point about making sure the person with the most resources to spare is the one expending them, it’s just that he keeps forgetting how <em>not</em> to be the one looking after people. When he’s left to his own devices specifically to take care of himself, he finds loose ends; he finds idleness and contemplation that sneaks in around the edges, not always positively. </p><p>The hand injury heals, with help and sunlight. Xander takes up careful stretching exercises <em>yet again</em>, and steady use of a different salve Sakura presses on him with a soft sternness. It’s somehow frightening, to think that barring any of his own stupidities this is the last time he’ll need to worry about this — that the constant gloves may be a thing of the past. He doesn’t know how to look at that, either, nor the fact that the change is as terrifying as the lack thereof. His foundation feels... unstable.</p><p>Within ten days the house is repaired enough that it’s suitable for people to live in — some of the walls, Xander understands, will simply no longer be present, but there are no lingering wiring or structural faults, and no... physical remnants of their father. Getting all their things together to go back takes longer than he had thought it would — they’ve all sort of adapted to living with the wolves, even in this short a time, constantly in each other’s pockets and never alone. </p><p>It isn’t as if they’re so very far away, if something vital is forgotten, but all the same leaving feels like <em>another</em> change that Xander is ill equipped to handle. He’s almost surprised, even, when Corrin comes with them, away from her mother and cousin, but she just gives him a cheerful smile and settles into the car. </p><p>Camilla elbows Xander gently. “I worked things out with Mikoto,” she says softly. “Try not to look <em>so</em> surprised. Long weekends here, weeks with us, at least until Christmas.” </p><p>Xander frowns vaguely only because he hadn’t known anything about it, because Camilla has handled yet another thing that he shouldn’t necessarily have let fall into her lap. He can’t argue with the conclusion, though — it’s as fair as anything he would have come up with, and Corrin seems happy enough. </p><p>He’s... really going to miss the pack’s house, he realizes. Not only for Ryoma’s sake, though that certainly figures. Rather everything about it: the casual ease of family, and the place in the woods, and the warmth of the hewn wood and carpets that are designed to cope with muddy pawprints rather than to be on display. </p><p>Their own house seems rather a letdown, after that, as the lights come on and they each disperse to their own rooms to put things away. Xander stands in the doorway of his own room for a long time, looking at things that no longer seem quite familiar and trying to will himself to simply take up residence again. Everything’s changed, and yet this is still the same.</p><p>He doesn’t sleep well that night, winds up in the windowseat on the highest floor at something like four in the morning again. Corrin is there already, half-asleep with her head pressed against the glass and her breath fogging up the window on every exhale. Xander doesn’t mean to disturb her, almost turns around, but his footsteps have already gotten her attention; she straightens up, yawns, pats the seat next to her.</p><p>So Xander sits down with her, one leg tucked up beneath him, and looks out the window. “Are you all right?” he asks once he’s settled.</p><p>Corrin shrugs, scrunches her face up for a moment. “I keep dreaming things,” she says. “It’s not that I wasn’t before, and I’m not surprised that I am, I guess, it just... I don’t know. It feels heavier, here.” </p><p>Wordlessly Xander rearranges his sitting position, until there’s clearly room for someone to lean against him, and in short order Corrin does just that, tucks herself against his side and rests her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “It’s really weird, being home,” she says. “I mean— it doesn’t feel like home, any more, only I don’t know when that happened, because when I was away at boarding school I kept wanting to come home to <em>here</em>, you know? But it’d feel weird to just go and live with Mother, too. It’s like... having two families almost means that <em>nowhere’s</em> home, because I’m always going to be missing someone.”</p><p>Xander puts his arm around her shoulders, looks at the lights distant out the window under the dark sky. He can certainly sympathize, if not outright relate. There’s no easy solution. “No matter where you are, you can always call.” It’s not his best effort, in terms of reassurance, and he knows it, but he can’t think what else to promise that he could actually keep. “If you ever need to come home, or <em>go</em> home.” Either one. He would move everything in his power for Corrin, as he would for any of his siblings.</p><p>As he would for Ryoma.</p><p>“Mmmm. I know.” Corrin sighs with a tired contentedness. “You’ve always looked after us, Xander.” There’s a long pause, quiet in the dark of the house and the night outside. It’s a stiller quiet than the Morimotos’ house offers, somehow. “Are <em>you</em> all right?”</p><p>His first instinct is that if enough has shown that Corrin can ask that question, then he’s been doing a poor job as a brother; she shouldn’t <em>have</em> to worry about him. His responsibility is to look after them without making himself another source of worry. On the heels of that instinct is the consideration that Corrin simply is this way: she cares, earnestly and deeply and easily, and would probably ask regardless of whether or not he’s shown her something to worry for.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Xander says, when he’s mustered the strength to say it believably. He can almost believe it himself. He lifts the previously injured hand to show her, flexing his fingers pointedly. “See? All healed. Leo and Sakura and Elise were very determined.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.” Corrin does not sound as if she believes him, though she captures the hand in question to go over it. Perhaps to catch him out; perhaps to reassure herself, Xander honestly can’t tell which. “I know you’re <em>physically</em> fine, or I’d be making very upset faces at you for using this so much.” She pouts to demonstrate, and even as an obvious put-on Xander feels alarm and concern twinge at him. “I just mean... everything. A lot has happened, and I know I don’t even know how much, because you and Camilla try so hard to protect me, but... Xander, are you okay? Really, honestly?”</p><p>He can’t answer her immediately, and that alone probably tells her what she wanted to know. Corrin sighs huffily, pats the back of his hand as she settles down to hold on to it. “It’s okay not to be okay, you know. I’m almost eighteen, I have almost <em>three</em> families, and I know I have all the help I need to handle <em>anything</em>. If you’re not okay, Xander, it’s not like you’re somehow letting us down if you’re not.”</p><p>He <em>is</em>, though. That doesn’t make it out of his mouth, but Corrin harrumphs loudly anyway, as if she’s sensed it on him. “You’re <em>not</em>,” she says, and squeezes his hand firmly. “We can all take care of each other, and that includes <em>you</em> being taken care of, okay? I know you’re my big brother, and that’s important to all of us, but that’s why it’s also important for you to take care of yourself, too.”</p><p>She isn’t going to let up, is she. “All right,” Xander says softly, before she can get any louder about the whole affair. “I believe you.” He’s not sure he believes it himself; but he believes Corrin is going to be determined about this for the immediate future, and if she gets much louder about her insistences, she’s probably going to start waking people up. Which—</p><p>Isn’t something to fear, any more, but it’s only polite to their siblings to <em>try</em> not to wake them up in the middle of the night.</p><p>“Good,” Corrin says, vaguely mollified though the wind’s been taken out of her sails. “...good.”</p><p>Xander lets it be. She dozes off there against his shoulder eventually, and he watches the darkness out the window for a long time before leg cramping finally forces him to get up. Corrin doesn’t stir much as he carries her back to her room and tucks her in.</p><p>Sleep doesn’t get much easier in that house. It’s a few more days before Xander can even force himself to go up to the master bedroom and see what’s been done with it. The missing wall has been rebuilt, but the finish is clearly different. Still, through the open door what Xander can see looks exactly the same as he can remember, and the distant urge to go and air things out and start discarding them wars with the desire not to step inside ever again.</p><p>The second urge wins for now. Xander leaves the upper floors entirely to go downstairs to Camilla’s forge and finds he’s not the first of them to have that idea; Leo is already perched on a folding chair in the far corner, one leg drawn up under him and Brynhildr open in his hands. Camilla is busy with wire and pliers and gold leaf but minimal heat, only occasional touches of a small soldering iron flashing light and warmth as she works. Both of them look up at Xander, and there are mirrored wry smiles before each returns to their own work. “You may as well have a seat,” Camilla says.</p><p>Xander does, though he takes up a position on the solid floor between them, leaning back on one hand. “How long have you both been down here?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Camilla says, “what time <em>is</em> it?”</p><p>“Sometime after noon, I think,” Leo says consideringly, without bothering to look up. “If it were dinner time yet, Elise would be bothering us to come eat with the family.” </p><p>At this rate, Xander thinks she might well bring dinner downstairs, but he keeps that much to himself. He turns over how to broach the issue at hand next, listening to Leo turning pages and Camilla’s soft murmuring to her work. “I’m not certain if Father left a will,” he says finally. “Or... where.” Father had only rarely seemed to entertain the thought that he might die, even as his health went downhill. </p><p>“In his study,” Leo says, the ready answer telling Xander this is something long since noted and logged. “I found it when I was going through the potentially magical things we removed. I <em>meant</em> to send it to be filed, but that rather slipped my mind. You may as well have a look at it, if you want.”</p><p>There’s something disquieting about Leo having handled things so thoroughly that Xander didn’t even <em>notice</em>. “If you had planned to file it, then it can’t have been disagreeable?”</p><p>Leo makes a neutral sort of a sound, not quite dismissal. “Nothing special. Neither spite nor love. It honestly looks like a form letter that he only signed for the sake of it, not because he’d put any thought into it. Equal division of the assets. I suppose that means we all have a share of real estate now.” He doesn’t sound particularly thrilled by this development. “And the house.”</p><p>The house. All of it itches at Xander, these things his father has left like armor, like a throne just waiting for someone else to take it. “I’m going to close down the business,” he says abruptly. “The land trading, all of the real estate work.” He doesn’t want any of it for himself, no matter that he was trained for it, no matter that he <em>has</em> it. </p><p>“Fine by me,” Camilla says. “It’s not as though we’re hurting for money, yes?”</p><p>“Never.” Leo stops turning pages, lays one hand flat on Brynhildr. “I can think of better uses for the business name, at least. Xander— let me?”</p><p>Xander wonders about ceding the responsibility; but if it’s something Leo <em>wants</em>, not a burden to pass off to him, then he’ll gladly step away from it. “Please,” he says. “You’ll have to deal with Father’s lawyers.”</p><p>“I know.” Leo sounds far too pleased about <em>that</em>, and it occurs to Xander belatedly that perhaps it is Father’s lawyers who will have to deal with Leo. “I <em>can</em> handle it, Xander. I know you like to take on everything—“</p><p>A protest that he doesn’t like to take on <em>everything</em> everything dies on his tongue. Xander can’t say it honestly, so he doesn’t. </p><p>“There,” Leo says, this directed at Camilla. “See? I win.”</p><p>“I hardly think that qualifies, darling,” she tells him, pausing mid-sentence to flirt with the soldering iron. “Xander hasn’t <em>said</em> anything.” </p><p>Xander begins to have a sinking feeling about what grounds, precisely, Leo is winning on. “I’ll handle the responsibilities I need to,” he says, in the hopes of making it clear this isn’t meaningless masochism. “That’s all.”</p><p>“And your definition of what responsibilities you <em>need</em> to take on includes everything you think the rest of us need to be protected from.” Leo’s needling is not about to have mercy any time soon. “It’s not that I don’t understand; it’s that I feel the same way. Especially, but not limited to, about Elise and Corrin.”</p><p>He lets that sit there for Xander to think about. Xander— thinks. It isn’t hard to pick up that Leo means he wants to protect Camilla as well, even if he hasn’t said as much explicitly; but extending that sentiment to Xander as well... </p><p>It doesn’t make <em>sense</em>. Looking out for his siblings— that’s what Xander’s <em>for</em>, really. There’s some colossal failure in him, if Leo thinks he needs to protect Xander from — from anything at all. Even though he already has. Already is, with his insistence on taking over the business responsibilities for his own. </p><p>The only thing that stops Xander from putting his head down on his knees right then and there is that it would further reinforce the impression of vulnerability, and he has no desire to give Leo any further cause to think he needs looking-after. Xander stays very still instead, feeling around the edges of what he suspects is an existential crisis. </p><p>“So I’ll handle the business,” Leo concludes, going on as if he hasn’t noticed whatever Xander’s in the middle of right now. Xander knows better, of course — Leo wouldn’t have paused at all if he hadn’t noticed something — but the appearance that he hasn’t really does help. “Everything else should be reasonably straightforward, unless we want to get <em>more</em> contractors in to make the new walls actually match the rest of the house.” </p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” Camilla says lightly. “I think there’s a sort of rustic charm about the way they are now.”</p><p>Leo snorts on a laugh that isn’t <em>entirely</em> humorous. “They make this place look like a fixer-upper.”</p><p>“That’s not such a <em>bad</em> thing...”</p><p>“It is for resale value.” </p><p>Xander lets the not-quite-argument they’re having go on over his head. It’s as light as it is sincere — that is, he has no doubt that Leo means every word that he’s arguing, despite the fact it’s an entirely petty sort of a discussion and they’re both right in their own way. The house... the matter of value and changes, the idea of passing-things-on — all of these nag at him, spinning out eventually into one cohesive idea that Xander has some trouble grappling with. It makes sense — it’s just that he’d never considered it possible before, and now coming to grips with the fact that he <em>could</em> upend everything familiar, just like that, is somehow more difficult now that it’s actually possible. </p><p>Into a lull in the not-argument, a space where both Leo and Camilla have bowed heads to their own work with some pause for due consideration, Xander speaks up, puts the thing out into the world where he can’t take it back. “What of selling this house?” </p><p>Camilla’s hands go still; Leo doesn’t seem very bothered at all. That tracks with what Xander might have expected, inasmuch as he’d thought far enough ahead to expect anything at all. He’s learned a great deal recently about how prepared Leo can be for things Xander barely foresaw. Meanwhile if any of them are specifically grounded in this place, it’s Camilla, this forge and retreat that’s hers and hers alone. Where her magic happens. </p><p>“It isn’t home,” Xander says, when they stay quiet, each in their own way. “Not... really. Or not for me; and Corrin thinks of home as the people in it, not the place. I would be... content. Anywhere my family is.” Anywhere Ryoma is, he does not say, and gently puts away. He needs to see to himself first, to <em>this</em> first. Right now, he can’t even bring himself to face a single particular room. “But this house—"</p><p>He breaks off before he can finish that particular sentence. It sounds a bit too pathetic even to him. At least if they move out, he’ll <em>have</em> to face up to everything in the process of cleaning it out. Once, perhaps, and then never again. That seems much more manageable than the interminable <em>forever</em> of continuing to live here. “...it doesn’t matter to me,” he says instead of the alternative. “But it’s not a one-sided decision.”</p><p>Leo shrugs, rustles pages. Unfolds his legs to tuck them up the other way instead. “I don’t particularly care one way or the other,” he says. “I’m sure it won’t surprise you if I say I was half-prepared to leave with very little warning, anyway.”  </p><p>No. Xander’s not surprised; but he would have been a month ago. Now it fits with the brother he’s getting to know again. “Camilla?” he asks, as gently as he knows how. </p><p>She looks at him over her work, all shimmering gold and fascination like a heat-haze tangled up in her hands. “Let me think about it.” </p><p>That seems fair enough. Xander nods to her, clasps his hands together. “Only if we all agree,” he says. </p><p>Camilla’s mouth does something amusedly wry. “Corrin and Elise spend more time at boarding school than here,” she points out. “You’re not wrong. Both of them will be happy enough as long as they’re with family. Which reminds me that we’re going to have to talk about the spring term as well...”</p><p>Xander bites back a sigh, since that’s <em>also</em> going to fall to him now. “We’ll see what they want to do,” he says.</p><p>“Good thing there’s no inconvenient stipulations in the will,” Leo murmurs. </p><p>That would have required Father to care about the educations they were receiving, beyond that it got them out of the house and crafted them into publicly suitable heirs. Xander doesn’t entirely like the bitterness of the thought — some part of him still wants to cling to the time when things were better, when Father wasn’t what he became — but perhaps that’s just selfishness.</p><p>He’s better off looking at the <em>now</em>.</p><p>“Let me know,” Xander says finally, his last word on the topic for now. He lets it fall. Camilla will come to it in her own time, as she comes to everything: gracefully and eventually.</p><p>Despite that half-decision, the house does not get any easier to sleep in.</p><p>Xander finds himself wishing he could justify disappearing back to the ranch entirely. It feels somehow harder now, without Father, than with him alive: like somehow he was justified in sneaking out when there was a tyrant overlooking him, and now that only a memory remains, everything should be just fine. Xander shouldn’t <em>want</em> to flee from his siblings, and he doesn’t — not really — it’s just. </p><p>Maybe it’s that in this house, under this pressure, it’s harder to break out from the old patterns. </p><p>But Laslow has things well in hand with the horses, boarded and owned alike, and with the students — things carry on cleanly enough, and Xander’s direct presence isn’t <em>needed</em>, and his family is here. </p><p>In the end what solves the problem is Elise: Xander recalls that he’d promised her all the time she likes with the horses, and the brief spell they’d spent there while taking the horses back after their fae excursion hadn’t been nearly enough time to sate her. Just enough to make sure everything was taken care of, and then drive back, leaving Elise pouting vaguely in the back window and staring after the place as it disappeared down the road behind them.</p><p>So Xander takes Elise to the ranch, and it feels less like abandoning his family to flee the house.</p><p>Elise drinks in everything greedily, sponge-like, and makes of her learning pure delight. She demands to know everything, to see everything, to <em>touch</em> everything, and Xander cannot help but indulge her. He’s not surprised that the horses seem to like her — it’s simply part of how Elise is — but he insists on teaching her the proper manners and approaches anyway, so that if someday she herself winds up teaching she will have that knowledge to pass on, rather than just the instinctive acceptance so many animals seem to have around her.</p><p>She takes to this, too, easily enough, especially once Xander has explained his reasons. “It <em>could</em> be boring,” she says on the topic, scrunching up her face with sulky determination, “but it’s cheating to <em>not</em>, and I want to play fair, so I’m gonna learn.”</p><p>And learn she does. Each day they go Xander still rather wishes he wasn’t going back to that house; but the nights are easier when he’s worn out, when the heavy labor of stall-mucking and horse-handling has tired him to the bone instead of leaving him restless and full of the nervous energy of might-have-beens. </p><p>At first he doesn’t think of Ryoma <em>very</em> much, but within another week the missing him is a sharper pang, something nestled up under his ribs where it’s vulnerable and safe all at once. Xander keeps thinking of showing him things, of sharing things with him — Elise’s bright pride in herself as she masters something new, the broad gold streaks of a setting sun still just visible against a darkening night sky, the particular arch of Brocade’s neck and the sleek gleam of her black coat. </p><p>But— why not, after all? There’s nothing to say he <em>can’t</em>. In fact, this absence from him may be his own doing — he’s the one who asked after space. So Xander sends Ryoma an image of the next sunset that catches his eye, and the next brilliant fallen leaf he manages to catch with his phone camera, and like this it’s easier. There isn’t a warm form beside him to lean on, but there is <em>presence</em>. And that’s enough for now, Xander thinks. It has to be enough for now, because it feels like if he has someone to bear his weight he will never manage to step away from that support. </p><p>Still: this, too, becomes easier, step by step, one small text at a time.</p><p>It’s around the time they’re starting to think of the logistics of the Christmas holiday that Xander and Elise come home to Leo and Camilla and Corrin all bundled into the kitchen, each with approximately half a recipe for cookies and each one a <em>different</em> half, and all sounding with more laughter than Xander swears he’s ever heard in this house. Camilla turns to greet them, a long swirl of lavender and skirts and some cookie dough that really should have stayed on the spoon instead of being flung across Xander’s face. He knows by the way she smiles, by the way her footsteps are light and her shoulders loose, before she even says anything. She’s certain now, and it makes her content.</p><p>This house is no longer their home. </p><hr/><p>It’s not so easy as just selling it and having done once the decision’s been made, of course — Xander knows that better than most of them — but nevertheless that certainty changes things. They have directed busyness when they are at the house: packing, cleaning, fixing the upstairs walls. There had been a good case made for bringing back the staff Garon had dismissed, or for bringing contractors back to handle the painting and wood-staining and trim, but in the end almost unanimously they had decided against bringing anyone additional in. And Leo, for all his grumpiness at all the <em>other</em> things he could be doing with his time, pitches in with something of a will.</p><p>In the end Xander isn’t the one who tears down most of what was in Father’s room. He helps, as he can, but something in him simply freezes up when he tries to spearhead the operation, or tries to do much more than simply carry and lift, take what’s given to him away and bring back fresh cloths, fresh paint. It’s galling that he can’t simply will himself through it, not even with siblings to drag the curtains wide and let the sunlight through to brighten everything. Somehow Xander feels as if he <em>should</em> be able to just decide he’s had enough of weakness and fear, and put it all aside on command.</p><p>He knows it isn’t that simple, but he would dearly like to.</p><p>Still: the work gets done.</p><p>They have a new place lined up by Christmas-time, though not moved into yet. Xander suspects but has not confirmed that Leo has a secondary apartment for himself, as well: some bolt-hole long since set aside, something he can have just for himself, to hide from anyone and everyone in as necessary. The new house is smaller, relatively speaking, than the one they will take the last of their things from in the new year. A room for each of them — a guest room — living spaces that tend to the cozy rather than cavernous — and a basement Camilla is already busy converting into her own workspace. </p><p>It isn’t home yet, of course, but Xander has seen the shades of how it might be. Mostly, admittedly, in the cheerful faces Elise makes, and the contemplative way Camilla strokes bare concrete walls, a promise in her hands to be fulfilled.</p><p>The plan is reasonably simple from there. The winter holiday in its entirety with the Morimotos, Christmas through to New Year’s. Everything they didn’t bring with them is in boxes already, and movers set to handle furniture; first thing in January is time for unpacking, and then Xander will gratefully turn over everything remaining regarding the sale of the old house to Leo. He doesn’t need to worry about anything else, and as the last days of December arrive Xander finds he carries himself lighter, that his heart tends to flutter with a nervousness that’s more pleasant than dreadful. </p><p>In retrospect, he thinks, it should have been easier to identify that he was simply excited to see Ryoma again.</p><p>Christmas is unremarkable, but in the best of ways: that is, it passes by in a haze of good cheer and fruitful laziness and the unending presence of family and pack, fondly inescapable. There is no emptiness, wherever Xander goes, and there are as many wolves as people, and though there are some bare moments where one set of people or another will delicately skirt around each other for the sake of reducing friction, it’s barely noticeable. Ryoma’s siblings are kind, though Takumi and Hinoka each tend to the brusque for different reasons; Azura floats through everything with a clear and distant eye. Camilla spends more time with wire and pliers in the guestroom than socializing, but all the same more than a few times Xander catches sight of her in conversation or demonstration with one or another of the pack. </p><p>He doesn’t try to avoid Ryoma, and Ryoma doesn’t push for too much closeness or privacy, only seems content to be <em>near</em> him. That alone fills Xander with some desperately overwhelming warmth, contained within his skin only by the miracle of siblings and public observation. He steals what moments he can to simply talk with Ryoma, and lets that warmth become something more manageable, more contented instead of urgent. Banked, without burning. </p><p>All the same, he can’t quite restrain himself from kissing Ryoma. Just the once — just for New Year’s Eve — just because it’s <em>traditional</em>. Xander isn’t too proud to flee into the house after, the warmth lingering on his lips.</p><p>This year is for starting anew: but this thing he is choosing for himself, and starting as he means to go on.</p><hr/><p>After the move, Xander starts to split his time more and more between the ranch and the new house. This time it isn’t for retreat, but for charging forward, for finding a solid footing to move forward <em>on</em>. Elise objects a few times when he doesn’t come home at night, opts instead to stay late with the horses and sleep in the long house with its little ascetic rooms. Xander understands this, and addresses it by proving again and again that he’ll come home, that he’s not <em>gone</em> – just briefly elsewhere.</p><p>Also he’s openly bribing her with the horses. That helps her mood. </p><p>For Xander’s part, he couldn’t point to one day when everything changes, one particular moment that makes himself look at his life and realize how long the road behind him. It’s just little things: the feeling of contentment that strikes him when he’s cooking eggs over a cramped stove in the ranch house, or the sense of looking forward to going home, for so long a foreign thing. Brocade presses her head against his chest and Xander finds affection that, while tempered by the fear of loss, is not so <em>desperate</em> as it once might have been. </p><p>All things considered, eventually it’s just the logical thing to ask Ryoma if he wouldn’t mind setting up a meeting with his mother.</p><p>(<em>Thanks</em>, Ryoma texts him, and for a moment Xander worries before the winking emoji comes through after and makes of it a joke. <em>Sure, she says tomorrow afternoon’s fine. You know the way</em>.)</p><p>And Xander does. </p><p>Ryoma greets him at the door, and as ever there’s the heat that quickens in Xander’s gut just for the sight of him, all broad shoulders and barely restrained mane. He’s wearing jeans today — Xander realizes he knows exactly how uncommon that is — and it’s an effort not to stare. </p><p>Fortunately, it’s no effort at all to greet Ryoma with a hug. There’s a momentary tenseness Xander can feel in intimate detail — it occurs to him he may have misstepped, since they haven’t <em>spoken</em> of what’s between them since Christmas — but it proves to be only surprise; Ryoma folds his arms around Xander’s shoulders and breathes a quiet sigh out against his hair. </p><p>Xander realizes the tactical error in doing this <em>before</em> he spoke to Mikoto. Now he doesn’t want to unfold himself at <em>all</em>. </p><p>Ryoma finally has to be the responsible one between them, peels himself a bare few inches away from Xander some several minutes later with a no small amount of tangible reluctance. “I believe you wanted to speak to Mother?” he says.</p><p>Yes, but— oh, <em>but</em>. Xander studies Ryoma at this close distance while he has the luxury, drinks him in. A mouth made to hide both smiles and kisses in; dextrous hands that always seem to want to be touching. The yearning was never <em>gone</em>, Xander discovers, only sleeping. </p><p>“—Ah,” he says belatedly. “Yes, please.” But he leans forward, catches up Ryoma’s hand in his before Ryoma can turn away, and Ryoma only returns the careful twine of fingers with soft eyes, doesn’t flinch as some part of Xander had half-feared. “It’s business. But afterward, would you have some time?” </p><p>Ryoma smiles then, the promise in his mouth made a warm thing that suffuses his entire face. “For you,” he says, “of course.” </p><p>Xander remembers Mikoto’s study through a haze, blanketed in the weary dreamlike greyness of October and November, of all the shocks and fears that had woven in and out like so much strange thread to stitch their families together. It seems, perhaps logically, more vibrant than he recalls it, even though the middle of winter makes the view through the window predominantly varying shades of brown. Mikoto herself isn’t at a desk, but sitting in a chair near the window, with a teapot steaming on the low table next to her, and when Xander is shooed inside she glances away from the window to greet him.</p><p>“You know where to find me later,” Ryoma murmurs, and lets the door drift shut. </p><p>Does he? —ah, the attic would make most sense. Xander tucks it away for slightly later and crosses the room to join Mikoto. It seems more appropriate to offer a short bow than a handshake, and though he couldn’t say precisely why he goes with that instinct before taking the seat across the table from her. </p><p>There are two cups, the handle-less kind meant to be cradled between two hands. Mikoto pours tea for both of them and Xander takes his up with a nod and murmured thanks, lets the heat seep into his palms with no small amount of gratitude. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she says, formal and polite over the rim of her own teacup. “Ryoma said it was something of business; and I think there are only two potential matters of business that might be between us, are there not? I could not decide which it would be.” </p><p>Two? Xander frowns. He had assumed, perhaps erroneously, that the matter of debts and deaths between their families was settled. He’s hunting for the words to be diplomatic about asking what might be owed when Mikoto tilts her head at him, and her poise softens a little. She reaches across the gap between to lay a gentle hand on his forearm. “What I mean, of course, is that if it is not about the land that your mother stewarded, then surely it would be about my son. I know of nothing else that might be called <em>business</em> between us.”</p><p>Xander’s eyes prickle with the sting of kindness, undeserved, and his throat closes, and it takes some several sips of tea before he has the capacity to speak. “It’s about the ranch,” he says. “Yes. May I ask— Ryoma?”</p><p>Mikoto returns her delicate fingers to her cup, and smiles at him with a sort of serenity that reminds him of a truly content Camilla. “There are those who would consider it traditional to approach the head of family with any intention to affiance to one of its children,” she explains, stepping neatly around the precise situation. “I wondered if you might.”</p><p>In all honesty, Xander would simply have gone to Ryoma, if that were his business. He shakes his head, feels heat warming his cheeks regardless of his best efforts. “Ah— no. That isn’t... not today.” </p><p>“I see.” She sets her cup down, folds her hands together in her lap. “Then Katerina’s bequest, is it not?”</p><p>Xander nods carefully. “I have no intention of breaking any of the terms I agreed to when I took up the ranch,” he says, on firmer ground now that they are no longer discussing <em>Ryoma</em> and <em>affiancing</em>. “That is— I wish to ask about the wards, and how precise they are. I understand, more clearly now than I did, that you have made the land and the people on it difficult to find, for which I am... grateful.” Grateful is insufficient. “And I think there are still those who could use such protections. Would there be some way to make it easier to find, and yet still protect — conceal, if necessary — anyone who calls it their home?” </p><p>Mikoto regards him with a renewed warmth, and Xander wonders if her silence is the same as his was, or something completely unlike. “Yes,” she says at length. “Yes, we are not hiding any more, are we? There is a difference between protection and hiding from the world.” </p><p>He can’t argue her use of the <em>we</em>. He had been hiding just as effectively as she had, after all, though from something rather different. “There are some students and boarders right now,” he says, assuming she’ll need to know a little more about the situation. “All of them explicitly invited. It isn’t a large group, however, and people who aren’t somehow connected don’t find it on their own. I would like to be able to — not expand. But to do better with what’s at hand.” </p><p>The budget has always been small — power generated onsite and Xander doing much of the necessary labor himself for a while have made it easier to work within limited means. He has money from Father’s accounts, now, but there’s some reticence to using it, like somehow even Father just having <em>touched</em> it makes it dirty or sharp. That’s foolishness, more than likely, and in principle using what was left by Father to do the most <em>good, </em>toproduce as much happiness for himself and others as possible, seems like the best spite against the memories Xander doesn’t care to look at right now</p><p>In practice, he is still hesitant, and so for now he is making do with what he has, what has never passed through Father’s hands. </p><p>“And you mean to offer some sanctuary,” Mikoto muses. “So <em>some</em> wards are still necessary; the world of humans is full of those who desire control that is not theirs to take.”</p><p>“Yes.” There is nothing else to say, to that. Xander cannot think Father was unique; only that his having had access to magic made him something more than he might otherwise have been. </p><p>“It’s a lovely idea. Let’s go over the specifics.” Mikoto rises, unfolding gracefully, to go to her desk, and returns with a pen and a notebook she flips over to a blank page. “From the beginning, then.”</p><p>They take longer than Xander had expected about it, going through several more cups of tea in the interim as they hash out words that might work for the new terms to keep. Xander was right before, when he thought the contract looked more like a set of promises: that’s what it is, oaths made to each other, with power in the words and <em>from</em> the words, from the weight of a promise made and kept. </p><p>When there’s something they’re both happy with, Mikoto closes her book, has Xander write down his email address; she’ll provide him a clean copy that way, she says, in case he wants to review further — in case he wants <em>Leo</em> to review further — and they can formalize it next week. It is heavily implied, at that point, that Xander should go and see Ryoma instead of lingering in conversation with her.</p><p>So he does.</p><p>He checks the attic first, though it’s been long enough he isn’t sure if Ryoma will still be waiting for him there. He hasn’t forgotten his way through the house in the interim — this turn at the hall, these stairs up. It’s an odd cross between the sense of being a guest in someone else’s house, and the sense of himself coming home. On the way up, Xander barely runs into any of the rest of the pack, which he suspects of being intentional to give them some privacy. He sees Sakura just in passing, an armful of books and a quick smile at the other end of a hall, but that’s the sum of it; she’s in motion to something and somewhere else. </p><p>The stairs are already pulled down. Xander takes them two at a time. </p><p>Ryoma’s tucked into the far corner against the wall, where the roof slants in and makes the space smaller than all of the rest of the room. There’s a book next to him, but he’s intent on his phone instead; and when Xander steps off the stairs properly Ryoma puts both of these aside in favor of easing out from under the ceiling and coming to greet him. </p><p>The greeting is a warm embrace, mirror to the one Xander had begun in the foyer of the house, unsurprisingly somehow more intimate. Xander feels Ryoma’s breath against his neck, the solid heat of the form against him, and everything that was worry and uncertainty simply <em>settles</em>, leaving just this. </p><p>“It really is good to see you again,” Ryoma says, a little muffled for refusing to let go. </p><p>Xander closes his eyes and leans into the moment, rests his head against Ryoma’s. “I feel much the same,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “I have... thought of you often.” </p><p>“I hoped.” Ryoma’s voice is soft. Xander thinks — perhaps there were just as many uncertainties, here, and perhaps they have been sated just the same way. “Are you... that is, how are you?”</p><p>It is a complicated question. “Better,” Xander says. It’s unspecific, yes, but on the whole: true. There are swings, he supposes, and still sometimes he is surprised by the simplicity of freedom, of not having to look over his shoulder — keeps catching himself hiding data on his phone or expecting to wake up and find that it’s all over, that Father has resumed his reign over the details of Xander’s life. Every time it is a relief to find things are not what they were last year; and every time it becomes a little easier. </p><p>Ryoma’s embrace tightens for some several moments, a rib-creaking hug that Xander finds he appreciates more than anything else. “Good,” Ryoma says. “I’m glad.” Only after that does he unwind himself even a little, stands with his hands on Xander’s shoulders and their distance barely arm’s length, and Xander has the distinct feeling that he’s being surveyed. </p><p>“You look well,” Xander tells him, which is a truth a little more polite than <em>somehow you are more lovely than I remember and I can barely cope</em>. </p><p>“Things have been... perhaps not easy. But good, here.” Ryoma makes no move to step away, and this close it is difficult not to think about touching him. “But I’m sure you hear enough of the family from Corrin...?” </p><p>A delicate question about more than just Corrin and family news. Xander considers it, his eyes absently fixed on the dip of Ryoma’s collarbone, the shadow in the hollow of his throat. “I did not wish to speak to you regarding our families,” he says finally. “Not specifically, in any case. Rather—" A deep breath, and courage summoned. Xander doesn’t think the answer will be <em>negative</em>, but there is always an openness, a vulnerability in the asking of certain things. “Will you go to dinner with me?” </p><p>Ryoma brightens visibly, instantly, and the grip on Xander turns to something lazier, arms draped casually over his shoulders and the distance between them shortened once more. “Yes,” he says without any consideration at all. “Of course. This weekend?” </p><p>Xander nods. “Shall I drop Corrin off and pick you up?” </p><p>“Perfect,” Ryoma says, and Xander’s heart is so light he thinks he might nearly fly away with it. Then Ryoma leans in to kiss him, all soft question at first before Xander tangles hands up in his hair and leans into the heavy heat of it. </p><p>It was so <em>easy, </em>somehow. </p><p>They stay like that until Ryoma, somewhere in the middle of his excitement, turns into a wolf, and then certain activities are rather curtailed; but when Xander goes back home that evening his step is light and everything in him filled with warmth. </p><p>It’s a long step from affiancing, as Mikoto put it. Still: he is hard-put to think that anything he might learn about Ryoma would put him off <em>now</em>, after everything they have walked through together. This isn’t an assessment of compatibility, but rather a way to ease back into the art of peace together.</p><p>Xander looks forward to every moment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>chapter title reference - Florence + the Machine, "Hunger"</p><p>("...i thought that love was a kind of emptiness. at least i understood then the hunger i felt, and i didn't have to call it loneliness.")</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0067"><h2>67. turn your face toward the sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winter turns to spring, renewing everything as it goes. Mother and Corrin and Azura go out to the place in the woods where the heart of the wild was buried and come back cheerful, invigorated, carrying the scent of wildflowers and sea-spray. Whatever’s going on there, Ryoma has to assume it’s good. Mother hasn’t told any of the wolves where it is — as much as Ryoma might like to know, he understands the decision to keep that knowledge reserved until she knows more about how such a seed will grow. </p><p>Who knows what may happen, when the moon is full and the wolves full of the wild.</p><p>Anyway, Xander is a <em>much</em> more interesting thing to focus on. There’s time now, like there wasn’t before: time to do all of the ridiculous things intended for couples, and to learn the little things about each other. Ryoma had known Xander was kind, and prone to taking on the troubles of those he cares about; but now, too, he knows that Xander has handwriting to rival a calligrapher and can’t swim to save his life <em>without</em> Camilla’s forged charm. They bargain over this last: swimming lessons exchanged for time spent around Xander’s horses, as much to get the horses used to wolves as it is to get the wolf Ryoma used to horses.</p><p>They don’t <em>quite</em> mark Valentine’s Day — Ryoma just assumes there’s baggage attached from a father who had cut off all past avenues of support, and he himself isn’t all that wedded to the concept anyway — but somehow flowers just <em>happen</em> to be exchanged around that time of the month, and they find a quiet privacy to just be, and that’s more than enough for Ryoma. </p><p>In March, Arete is conscious and functional enough to pilot her own body instead of her daughter’s, and the result is a high-volume argument between her and Mother that has half the pack creeping around with ears pinned back and tails held close. Mother doesn’t <em>scream</em> — she never has, really — but it’s the loudest any of them have ever heard her, hauling out decades of grievances now that the heart-sickness has gone and left a living sister full of difficult choices.</p><p>Azura hunkers down with Ryoma and Sakura in the greenhouse, making expressively annoyed eyes from the corner with the lavender plants. “Mother’s the older sister,” Azura explains at one point, “she’s not <em>used</em> to having to depend on Aunt, and since Aunt’s been worried sick...”</p><p>Ryoma and Sakura both nod. Sometimes when a wire snaps, it lashes back. Ryoma’s reasonably sure that if Hinoka did something like knowingly use her spirit as a trap for a foe and then vanish for more than ten years, they would probably escalate to a yelling match. It’s a moot point, naturally, because she wouldn’t do that in the first place — but he can see where they’re coming from.</p><p>Perhaps unsurprisingly, Arete opts to move out as soon as she has access to her own money again and the matter of her assumed death has been cleared up with the relevant legal authorities. Ryoma’s of mixed feelings about that. He doesn’t know Arete very well, and his impression of her is largely brusque flavored with the determination to do what’s necessary, no matter the cost to herself or others; but her finding her own living situation means that Azura goes <em>with</em> her, and he along with the rest of the pack have already adapted to Azura’s curious presence, whether musical or entirely quiet. </p><p>He makes sure Azura has a house key, and she smiles for it. In the coming days Azura remains a fixture at their house at least three days out of the week. Ryoma watches her to make sure she’s well, and he knows he’s not the only one doing that, but for whatever faults Arete has, she’s at least a mother who doesn’t cause her child to live in fear. It seems that Azura just prefers the sounds and presence of more people, after a decade of only her mother for company, and Ryoma can’t fault her for that.</p><p>Xander’s family also start to show up more often, independently. It’s unusual at first — Leo turns up with Corrin and asks if he can stay an extra day to borrow the resources of the library, and although Hinoka makes herself scarce she doesn’t object. Then Elise grows un-busy enough once the Königs are all settled in the new house and she has a local school schedule to start visiting more regularly, demanding in her cheery way for Sakura and Corrin to come out and play. More often than not some of the other wolves get pulled into this, too, one way or another. Ryoma winds up vaguely conscious that some of the time when Hinoka disappears it’s actually to go and see the <em>other</em> Königs, and it’s all just— <em>nice</em>. No, nice isn’t a sufficient word for it, this knowledge that their families are finding ways to get on with each other independent of Corrin, independent of Ryoma and Xander dating; but Ryoma can’t find any single word to encompass that this is somehow the best outcome he could have hoped for. </p><p>They don’t see very much of Camilla, save when dropping Corrin off back and forth, but Ryoma reasons that’s to be expected — via Xander he understands that Camilla is taking it upon herself to be the most reticent and protective, and that she has often preferred the company of a forge and hot metal and shining things to that of people she doesn’t know very well. He does his best to be unfailingly polite when she does appear, and other than that suspects that she will make it known when she feels like engaging more.</p><p>Ryoma is correct, as it turns out; there’s a day in late March or so when Camilla appears with Corrin and just doesn’t <em>leave</em>, opting instead to take up one of the guest rooms for the night. The next morning, when Corrin is occupied learning things about her heritage with Mother and Azura, and most of Ryoma’s siblings are suitably distracted with a housewide wrestling match kicked off by a disagreement over the bones of last week’s hunt, Camilla manages to snag Ryoma away from the kitchen and out to the lower back wolf-door with queries about how it was constructed, and what considerations are best kept in mind for building around wolves.</p><p>Some of the questions Ryoma can answer; for others he says, regretfully, that he’ll have to direct her to Yukimura, who was a friend of his parents and still lives with the pack for the most part despite the pursuit of his own interests. </p><p>“I hope you’ll introduce me later,” Camilla says absently, as she’s fiddling with the latch, feeling out the heavy durability of the wolf-handle. “Another time.”</p><p>“Another time.” Ryoma has the sense she’s got something else in mind, though he couldn’t say what it is, and so he just waits as she works through the mechanics, follows the heavy rope up and down and fingers the indentations of wolf-teeth worn into it. </p><p>Eventually Camilla tugs the whole thing open, steps out into the brisk spring air and glances around. The wolf-door opens up right next to the narrower human back door, onto raw woodland — to the left some of the mint that’s escaped the greenhouse is visible, but otherwise it’s just the woods. “Hmm,” she says, drawn out with the air of someone thinking things through. “How far does this stretch, really?”</p><p>“I don’t know the exact acreage,” Ryoma admits. It’s written down somewhere in Mother’s papers, but acres are a terrible measurement to begin with. “Far enough to get lost in, but that’s not saying much.” He knows it by landmarks, more. “The land backs on to where Xander’s ranch is set, and reaches as far down as the wildlife rehabilitation clinic...”</p><p>“I know of it.” Camilla hums lightly. “I believe I heard your sister administrates that.”</p><p>“With some help from the rest of the pack.” It’s Hinoka’s love, naturally, but she can’t do it alone — and all of the pack tries to practice good stewardship, as well as they can. “Why do you ask?”</p><p>Camilla shrugs, turning on the spot to survey the house from the position outside. “Curiosity,” she says. “Does this close from the outside?”</p><p>“Not... precisely.” Ryoma steps outside after her, ducking the lower doorframe. “If it doesn’t latch in the higher position, it’ll close again, but we generally assume wolves running out this way won’t be about to stop for things like closing doors; and if that’s the case, then there’ll be someone human-shaped seeing them off. But wolves who go out generally like to come in again — since this area sort-of seals off from the rest of the house, it’s not too big an issue for the heat if it’s left open all night.”</p><p>“Not entirely efficient,” she muses, hands propped on her hips. The mood finally clicks, to Ryoma’s observations, as someone with mechanical know-how looking at a problem and seeing how they may improve it; and, accordingly, he instantly relaxes. He knows what to do with <em>that</em>, which is to provide the requested data and get out of the way. “I want to see the landmarks from out here, please. It’s difficult to get a sense for the size and lay of the place. Will you show me around?”</p><p>As it happens, Ryoma has nothing else precisely planned — he’d managed what needed to be managed regarding charitable business yesterday before Corrin’s arrival, in deference to her quixotic nature and liking for absconding with family. He just hadn’t expected it to be this sister who made off for him. “I don’t mind,” he says, and takes her around the house.</p><p>She has a good sense for geometry, it transpires. Ryoma doesn’t need to identify anything Camilla’s already seen from the inside, though he does point out various of their modifications — the solar panels that will really need some branches to be pruned back before they’re useful again; the covered area used for woodwork, archery, and-or wolf lounging, as the situation demands; the places where they’ve taken especial care about drainage, given that part of the house is sunken in the earth and a surprise flood pleases no one. After <em>that</em> Ryoma points out the directions things like the rehab center lie in, comparing on a map hastily pulled up on his phone.</p><p>Camilla frowns about most of these. “The concept is slippery,” she says, with narrowed eyes. “Your mother’s wards, yes?”</p><p>“Yes.” Ryoma clears his throat. “Mother’s relaxed some of them, but not all. It’s... we do our best, but between people and cameras, we don’t always manage to avoid some perception. It’s important that nothing follows us home.”</p><p>“I don’t blame her,” Camilla murmurs, eyes on the distant horizon through the trees. “Ah, well. I’ll talk to your mother and this Yukimura another time. There’s some I may be able to add, and since Corrin and Xander at a minimum are going to be spending a great deal more time here, it’s only sensible.” </p><p>Ryoma doesn’t mean to change his bearing, but apparently some of his concern for her good opinion shows, and Camilla tosses him a wry look over her shoulder. “Don’t fret,” she says. “The last several months may have been hard, but Xander’s a man grown and more than capable of making his own decisions. I’m not about to shake you down to make sure you look after him; my opinion hasn’t changed so much since the last time we spoke in earnest. If anything, I’m only curious about this bond between you. Xander made it sound rather one-sided.”</p><p>It’s not such a tangle as it used to be, these days. Ryoma shrugs lightly, sets his feet on a path they often travel out of the house as wolves, and Camilla matches him. “It isn’t ordinarily,” he says, as they go. “It’s a thing of wolves. To be like us is a balance — some of the human, some of the wolf. As wolves we reason better than a normal wolf would; as humans we keep some of the traits of the wolf. Some things bleed across, and some don’t. The bond is what happens when a specific bit of the magic finds someone who is, similarly, a good balance, and reaches out in the only way that power really has to ‘talk’ to us.”</p><p>“A scent,” Camilla says when Ryoma pauses, filling in from what Xander must no doubt have told her. “They say canine noses are several thousand times the strength of a human’s.”</p><p>“It’s a different thing to measure numerically, but something like that, yes.” Ryoma breathes in deep, consciously cataloging rather than subconsciously sorting now that he’s thinking about it. Pollen. Oh, dear, a <em>lot</em> of pollen. The briskness of coming rain, and Camilla’s smoky sunniness. “When something you don’t yourself have a sense for tries to express itself, it often does so through other, more familiar senses. Hence the scent. So Xander’s scent is approximately the best thing I’ve ever breathed, and for a while I wanted nothing more than to follow him around.” Briefly self-conscious, Ryoma rubs his nose. “It eases, over time. That is— the scent hasn’t changed; I’m just used to it now, and less likely to be a fool for it.”</p><p>“And it’s breakable.” Camilla is more tentative here. “As with Leo...?”</p><p>Ryoma nods. “it’s doable. Wolfsbane is something of a shortcut — the easiest way we have to speak back to that magic and tell it that it’s wrong. I don’t know how often that happens.” Father would have known. Ryoma’s lucky he knows as much as he did. “I genuinely don’t know if Hinoka’s avoiding him because his scent is repellent to her now, or because she’s embarrassed.” </p><p>“I wonder.” Camilla tilts her head to one side for that. “Your sister seems rather more the sort to push through it when she’s embarrassed.”</p><p>“She’s never really been interested in anyone, before,” Ryoma says. “Not that I’ve seen, anyway.” He doesn’t <em>think</em> she could have hidden it from him if she had a crush — there would have been something different in her scent if nothing else — but stranger things have happened. “...regardless, unless Hinoka says something I’m going to let them work it out in their own time.”</p><p>“That may be wisest, but... ah, Leo is stubborn before he’s impatient.” There’s a cheerful note in Camilla’s voice for this. “Shall we say, I’ll let you know if I hear of anything changing. What of you? What does your bond mean for you and Xander?”</p><p>“Not very much, for Xander.” Ryoma smiles wryly at her. “It’s a lot of fuss and very little bite. For my part, I won’t have nose for anyone else, and it will always be easier to find him. There’s some measure of additional understanding, I think, but— you have to understand, between wolves that sort of dimension means almost nothing. We always understand each other. As for Father and Mother and Mom, I couldn’t tell you how it changed their understandings, for Mother was always strange, and Mom was always on the wild side. I <em>do</em> know that it doesn’t bind, the reverse direction. That Mother hasn’t re-married is a choice, not an incapability.”</p><p>“And what of you?” Camilla says again, echoing herself to prod at him.</p><p>What of him, indeed. Ryoma lifts his shoulders once more. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Xander has become someone important to me. I know myself well enough to know that won’t change. If his heart shifts, I will mourn it, but I have the loves of my family and the woods and the moon, and I had rather the risks of the future than change what I have now to something lesser.” It’s nothing he hasn’t been over with himself before, in the uncertain periods, trying to be realistic with himself about worst-case scenarios, and he <em>knows</em> it isn’t the most sensible of things. </p><p>“You’re a poetic fool,” Camilla informs him, a little tartly. “Fortunately for <em>you</em>, Xander likes it that way.”</p><p>All Ryoma can really do is smile at her about this. “Where there’s life, there’s hope. Isn’t that the saying?” </p><p>“I wouldn’t have agreed with you about that for a very long time,” Camilla says. Out there, under the spring sky and the hint of rain, there is the thread of an understanding between them, something new which may well weave strong. <em>You’ll do</em>, Camilla had said months ago; this feels as though it’s more than that. As if she might have been concerned for Ryoma’s sake as well. What a thought. “Now, though... perhaps there is yet.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>chapter title reference - Rihanna, "Towards the Sun"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0068"><h2>68. no further debts to be paid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hinoka stares at Xander.</p><p>Xander stares at Hinoka, and then recalls that it’s rude and focuses on the array of leaflets the wildlife rehab center has available. There really are a lot. The longer she’s quiet, the worse this idea seems, actually. Desperately Xander picks a leaflet at random — avoid attracting bears with these simple tips! — and unfolds and refolds it between his hands. He intakes absolutely none of the words. </p><p>“Please don’t wrestle a bear,” Hinoka says. “I know you have muscle, but the bear will win, I promise.” </p><p>“What— no.” Xander puts the leaflet back. It’s in the wrong slot, probably. “—Although I will admit I’m curious, now. I believe I recall hearing at one point that your father did?”</p><p>“Dad was basically a dire wolf,” Hinoka points out. “And he and Mom were working together for that one.” </p><p>Xander recalls the sheer size of the man, all broad shoulders and hefty muscle, and surprising speed under it all for a— he’s going to not recall that at the moment, thank you. He shakes his head, moves onward. “No, I shouldn’t think that would be necessary. Unless you <em>do</em> recommend it for these purposes, in which case...” </p><p>“I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with you,” she says. </p><p>That isn’t reassuring, given that Hinoka was the one of Ryoma’s family Xander had guessed would be most able to help him with this predicament. “Should I go?”</p><p>“I didn’t say <em>that</em>.” Hinoka holds up a hand, closes her eyes. She’s still faintly red about the face. “Hold on, I need to purge some mental images.” </p><p>It’s unclear if she’s being dramatic or not. Xander presses all of his confusion back behind polite blandness and waits for Hinoka to work through it. He’d <em>tried</em> to be vague and delicate around the situation, had talked a circle around how <em>gentle</em> Ryoma is being and how careful not to apply anything that could <em>possibly</em> be conceived as pressure—</p><p>Hinoka had given him vaguely confused looks up until Xander laid out, explicitly, that he was trying to establish if Ryoma had some previously unknown hangups around sex or if this really was a hypersensitive concern for Xander’s well-being, and in the latter case he would like to know if there was any particularly wolf-oriented way to get through Ryoma’s head that Xander is <em>just fine</em>, thank you. It had occurred to him that there might be dynamics he’s missing, in the scent-bond and the matter of wolves and not <em>technically</em> being pack...</p><p>Once the vagueness had been cleared up, Hinoka had gone beet-red and failed to say anything at all.</p><p>“Okay,” she says now, some several minutes after the whole issue had begun. “On the one hand, you only really need to worry about wolfy shit if you’re effectively <em>proposing</em>. On the other hand, not to put too fine a point on it, since this is Ryoma and sex will make whatever bond you have more solid, you maybe <em>are</em>. So... think about that for a hot minute, then get back to me.”</p><p>“...Ah,” Xander says. How does he put words to this. That is — it isn’t as if he had forgotten about that bond, the peculiar little bit of magic that made Ryoma look at him long enough to consider who he might be in the first place.  It’s just that most of the time Ryoma doesn’t act like it matters. He’ll break off if he’s overwhelmed by scent and touch, and sometimes open a window, but other than the insistence on Xander’s comfort and apparently-linked reticence to sex, Xander hasn’t noticed anything previously that might say Ryoma is hesitant about making such a bond more lasting. </p><p>Now he wonders. </p><p>“Don’t do that,” Hinoka advises suddenly, leaning up and over the counter toward him. “Yeah, you, Mr. Frowns, you’re doing something stupid and guilty, aren’t you? I <em>guarantee</em> that’s what Ryoma’s been trying to avoid, you feeling bad about the whole scent-bond shit.”</p><p>Startled out of precisely that, Xander can’t muster anything but blinking owlishly at her for a moment or five. </p><p>“That’s what I <em>thought.”</em> Hinoka flops back down with a vicious intent to relax. “Okay. From the top. Ryoma has been stupid in love with you for months. He’s also <em>never</em> going to make the first move at anything more than what you have now, because he’s waiting for you and doesn’t want to do anything that could possibly construed as pressure. So go be sure you want to wolf-marry him, and then come back and we can chat about food provision and hunting rituals and the <em>reason</em> Dad thought wrestling a bear was a good idea.” </p><p>Clearly dismissed, Xander goes away to think about that properly. He has a date with Ryoma that weekend in any case, and while he doesn’t manage to broach the subject <em>specifically</em>, he does manage to walk up to it, enough that Ryoma hauls him off after the movie to find the nearest horizontal surface slightly out of the public view, in pursuit of particularly clingy cuddling. </p><p>It’s the word Hinoka had used for it that’s getting in his head. Marriage, huh. If he thinks of it as just making his future more of this, then it’s an easy choice: it’s the continuing blending of their families, it’s everything he and Ryoma have now stretching out years and years into the future. It is, perhaps, a house full of wolves and siblings and people who are both of those things. And wanting that seems— simple. Especially after all the complexities they have navigated so far. Once the revenant of a murdered father has come and gone, Xander figures, disagreements about where to go for dinner are hardly the most important thing to pass between them. </p><p>In fact, Xander realizes, somewhere between Ryoma’s arms and the resounding thump of his heart under Xander’s head, most of his reticences are for Ryoma’s sake. If <em>Ryoma</em> changes his mind; if <em>Ryoma</em> sometime down the line decides that he’s made a mistake getting into this. When Xander removes that from the equation — when he asks himself what he would do if it <em>were</em> Ryoma asking — the answer’s easy. </p><p>He goes back to Hinoka within the week, this time over coffee outside the rehab center instead of peering over the counter and leaflets. Hinoka blows a resigned sigh when she sees him coming, but there’s something of a smile she can’t entirely hide, either. </p><p>“I’m certain,” Xander informs her, once they have navigated small talk and greetings to the meat of the thing. “Sure enough that I would appreciate your advice on broaching the topic with Ryoma more seriously, at any rate.”</p><p>“You know,” she says conversationally, “I told him you were a bad idea. I was coming up with ways to non-lethally sneak wolfsbane into your shower or something. He was <em>very stupid</em> about some things.”</p><p>Xander waits for her to get to her point, being completely lost for graceful ways to say ‘thanks for not involving lethal plants at all, actually.’</p><p>Hinoka sighs again then, drinks long and deep of the mug he’d brought her, and when she’s done with that closes the lid with a definitive snap. “Whatever you’re doing with each other is good for both of you, just don’t make me hear the squishy details,” she says bluntly. “You’ll do fine, you’re just going to have to tell Mother pretty clearly if you <em>don’t</em> actually want a formal wedding. Preferably early. So, on the topic of the bear.” </p><p>Somehow that’s all the judgment she has. Xander had expected more. He listens attentively as Hinoka explains the involved urges when it comes to scent-bonds and courting, and the ways things would work between wolves. Demonstrations of skill and providing ability seem more of a piece with some historical romance piece, but if he considers it from the point of view of a wolf selecting an appropriate mate, the whole thing makes more sense. </p><p>He’s still not fond of hunting, but he’s seen the way the pack does things: anything brought back is used to its entirety, or provided to those who will. They’re <em>responsible</em>, in their way; it’s not something done for sport but rather to sustain the needs of a wolf pack that just happens to be humans part of the time, too. </p><p>He has to go away and think about it some more for himself, which is fine — there’s no harm in being additionally sure — but once he’s squared it with himself, there’s really no point in delaying anything else any longer. And so in the vicinity of the midsummer, when everything is high and bright and Xander begins to glow even before the sun has fully set, he goes to ask Hinoka if he might accompany her on one hunt, the next time she has occasion to go that isn’t the full moon.</p><p>“Excellent,” Hinoka says briskly when this happens. “Your brother owes me money.” And while Xander <em>does</em> have to stop and wonder how betting came into her own relationship with Leo, it’s somehow more reassuring than anything else she could have said. </p><p>It isn’t only about Xander, and Ryoma, and the feelings between them, but the families that come with them; and apparently those families have long since seen this coming, which means the only strife is going to be the hunt itself. </p><p>This, too, leaves Xander feeling warm.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>chapter title reference - Ashley Barrett + Darren Korb, "Good Riddance"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0069"><h2>69. a scent like home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is it, folks! thanks for coming along. &lt;3</p><p>content notes: non-explicit hunting + according butchery; non-explicit sex</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spring, and the world is full of blooms and seeds and sprouts, the soft brilliant green of new growth on fir trees and the leaves that find they have returned from the rest of winter. Then summer: long days and short, hot nights, where even the wolves muster only the shortest of cursory romps along the vast-growing woods before returning to flop themselves down on cool stone and pant cheerfully into the night air. The last two full moons Xander has seen them off into the night, glowing faintly in the door behind them, and has accordingly been there when they return. </p><p>On every one of these occasions Ryoma goes to rest his head in Xander’s lap, and only through sheer fortune has not been perhaps <em>too</em> personal for a human when the morning comes. </p><p>Well—</p><p>Too personal for a human in public, at any rate.</p><p>Xander spends a lot more time at the wolf house than he used to. Enough time that Ryoma isn’t the only wolf who’ll lean against him when in search of a good cushion, though Ryoma obviously has first chinrest rights. Enough time that it isn’t a <em>surprise</em> when, sometime in the middle of July, Ryoma wanders into the kitchen to find Xander there. What <em>is</em> a surprise is what he’s doing — he’s in the cabinet of tools usually used for butchering, when they’ve brought down something as wolves that they’re going to be eating as humans.</p><p>Someone had a good hunt, apparently. A good time for it, too; they’re nearly through the deer that Takumi and Saizo saved some suburban gardeners from. Ryoma sniffs idly, trying to suss out what they caught and who went out hunting, and promptly frowns. There <em>is</em> a scent of something on the air, brought in with Xander, but it’s not venison. </p><p>“Good afternoon,” Xander murmurs, as Ryoma paces up behind him, peering over his shoulder with interest. “I suspect you may be able to help me find what I’m looking for. Hinoka was less than specific.” </p><p>Ryoma slips arms around Xander’s waist rather than do the helpful sorting himself, puts his chin on Xander’s shoulder. “That will depend on what you need. Care to elaborate?”</p><p>“Dressing something on the large side.” There’s something about his tone, some sort of satisfaction Ryoma can’t place to any one particular thing. “Not something I’ve engaged in much before. I understand the meat can then be safely aged for a time?” </p><p>“Something like that.” Ryoma still can’t quite place the additional scent, the one doubtless from whatever Hinoka’s working on, and that’s nagging at him as something he <em>should</em> recognize. “Go with that one.” He unfolds himself enough to point, and otherwise doesn’t move, rather appreciating the solid warmth of Xander against him, not to mention the flex of muscle as Xander reaches for the indicated saw. “And that knife.” </p><p>“Thank you.” Xander pauses pointedly so Ryoma can disentangle without risking a poorly angled blade. Reluctantly Ryoma does, pausing to press a kiss just behind Xander’s ear before doing so. His curiosity’s piqued, at least. “You have good timing — I would have come to find you just after this, in any case. I believe additional assistance is being recruited as we speak, but I wanted to be sure you had first—“ The knife flicks in a quick circle, a motion Ryoma usually only sees in Xander’s hands, the description of a paused thought in midair. “Dibs?”</p><p>“This is not explaining anything at all,” Ryoma tells him. “Show me?”</p><p>By necessity, it isn’t very far from kitchen to the wolf-door and the associated solid, easily-cleaned vestibule for pack mess. Ryoma heads that way, finds the only intervening door already propped open, and discovers what’s been hunted.</p><p>... it’s. </p><p>It’s a bear. An entire bear.</p><p>Ryoma has a <em>vivid</em> memory of the day his father and mother had done something like this, dragged a whole massive weight home as some sort of courting-present for Mikoto — Mom, small and sprightly as a human, had perched on top of the bear with a manic sort of glee while Father tried and failed not to be enamored by her all over again. They had been bickering over it, but mostly only to the extent that Mom was very pleased to have been the one who thought up this strategy for impressing Mikoto, and Father would have preferred to be the one who came up with the idea. </p><p>Mikoto <em>had</em> been impressed. It had been rather more for Ikona and Sumeragi than the fact of the bear itself, though. </p><p>Footsteps from behind them while Ryoma’s still stunned in place. Hinoka scoots around him, rolling the sleeves up on her robe. “For the record, this wasn’t my idea,” she says, taking tools out of Xander’s hands. “And I <em>told</em> your boyfriend not to wrestle a bear.”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Xander says, mildly nettled. “I took no unnecessary risks, thank you.”</p><p>“Should have brought a bigger knife, then,” she says, with the bloody-minded serenity of someone spoiling for a fight. “I found Kagero, she’s going to help handle this. Maybe Saizo, too, if she finds him. Many hands, light work, and all that.”</p><p>Ryoma looks between them, the light in Hinoka’s eyes and the faint smile on Xander’s face, and discovers not only that his partner and his sister are getting along devastatingly well, but have apparently teamed up to very deliberately echo Mom and Father at Ryoma. </p><p>“You <em>didn’t</em> wrestle a bear,” Ryoma clarifies blankly, because that’s all he can put into words at the moment. </p><p>“Not <em>intentionally</em>,” Xander says. “And not precisely bare-handed, either.” Hinoka snickers; Xander frowns at her, and keeps talking, a little more halting. “It isn’t about to become a habit, accompanying your siblings hunting. It’s only...”</p><p>“Get a <em>room</em>,” Hinoka hollers over the bear. “Seriously, you two, if you’re not going to help with this, scoot.” </p><p>Xander offers a hesitant, almost sheepish smile. Ryoma puts together all of the above and comes to the conclusion that he would like Xander in private, in his room, immediately. It’s just a shame that he doesn’t have the leverage from this angle to sweep Xander off his feet. Instead he takes Xander’s hand, tangles their fingers up together and squeezes, and then takes off back through the kitchen. Xander makes a startled sound, stumbles, but otherwise keeps up; and by the time Ryoma has dragged them up the stairs and back to his room, they’re both laughing, wild and runaway.</p><p>The door clicks shut behind them. Ryoma thinks briefly about letting go of Xander’s hand so they can talk with a measure of physical distance, undistracted, but that seems a thoroughly unappealing option. He leans against the edge of his bed instead, and Xander sits beside him, head turned just enough to watch his face. Their thighs press together, long and warm and reassuringly solid, and Ryoma breathes contentedness. </p><p>“Hinoka told me some of the stories,” Xander says finally, after the deliberation of where to put their joined hands. “Of your parents. As they were told to her, she said. I was looking for... some way to make it clear to you. That I’m... certain about you. Exceedingly so.” </p><p>He couldn’t have chosen a better way if he tried. Ryoma smiles wryly at him. It feels almost difficult to speak around his heart, too big and too warm in his chest to do anything but <em>love</em>. “You don’t even like hunting.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Xander agrees. “But you were not taking my word alone for it.”</p><p>The vague pang of guilt does not manage to outweigh the warmth. Ryoma winces vaguely anyway. “It was one of the lessons Father gave me that stuck,” he says. “If we happened to scent-bond with a human, or someone otherwise not a wolf— it’s <em>our</em> problem, our responsibility to manage. Not yours. It’s not fair to put it on you, when you weren’t part of this to begin with.”</p><p>“But I am,” Xander says, and, “But I’m choosing this, anyway. It doesn’t have to be about sex, if you prefer not—"</p><p>“Please understand that you have become sexually irresistible,” Ryoma puts in, just to clear up any doubts about that. </p><p>Xander laughs quietly, keeps going. “—or it can be about sex,” he says. “For the most part, it’s about you. And choosing you, bond or no bond. I want this, and you. So: when <em>you’re</em> ready for commitment — since as I understand it’s something of a bigger deal for the wolf in this equation — I will be here.”</p><p>Ryoma puts his head down on Xander’s shoulder and laughs helplessly. It gets away from him a little, till his ribs ache, and somewhere in the interim Xander disentangles their hands just so he can put his arm around Ryoma and stroke his hair. “And here I thought I was waiting for <em>you</em>,” Ryoma says when he actually can. “This is ridiculous. I owe Hinoka— so many desserts.” </p><p>“With all due respect to Hinoka, she can wait outside your bedroom,” Xander says. His hand smooths down Ryoma’s spine, all affection and warmth, and Ryoma <em>feels</em> the care that radiates underneath it all. “I had rather only you.”</p><p>Still laughing a little, Ryoma picks his head up and leans just the little space more to kiss Xander. It’s gentle at first, but the hunger beneath it is of both of them, and the warmth turns to something heated and stirring before very long. And since they’re in bed already, it’s only natural to roll back onto it, to pull Xander down with him and tug him close where he can be a delightful solidity against Ryoma’s body, all careful hands and dark eyes and <em>desire</em> written in every movement he makes. </p><p>Ryoma is very pleased with his decision not to bother with jeans today. </p><p>Everything is skin and heat and touch and the exquisite pressure of Xander’s mouth for a significant enough stretch of time that when Xander pauses, Ryoma’s capacity for rational speech is nowhere at all near the proceedings; it takes several moments for Ryoma to pick his head up and focus. “Mmmh?” </p><p>“I just wished to establish if there is any significant risk of having a wolf in bed,” Xander says, with more prim dignity than should be possible for someone in <em>that</em> position. “Or any partial shift— as I recall, you have had some trouble before in becoming overwhelmed by scent, and I’m not versed in anything other than human equipment—"</p><p>“Wolf biology <em>later</em>,” Ryoma says firmly, and gathers himself, and lunges up just enough to roll Xander over. Laughter bubbles up between them in two-voiced harmony. “I will tell you anything you want to know about a baculum <em>tomorrow</em>, I promise.” </p><p>“I’ll hold you to it,” Xander says with some interest; but it’s the last he says for quite some time, as Ryoma puts himself to work giving as good as he’s gotten. </p><p>Somewhere in the joy between them, the quality of the magic that threaded them together in the first place changes, shifts and settles. Ryoma feels it happen, naturally, but doesn’t dignify it with anything like <em>stopping</em> what he’s doing. What’s more important than that is this: the sweetness of touch and the delight of togetherness, and the certainty that the future is to be met with someone else beside him.</p><p>Ryoma can’t think that he’d ask for anything else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's all she wrote! literally. I'm out of words now. I've been working on this thing for twenty-two months and i am Done. </p><p>Thanks so much for reading along this far. &lt;3 </p><p>I have continuing thoughts in this universe and I want someday to write side-stories -- among them the strange, strange dance Leo and Hinoka are doing, and about some of the <i>other</i> pack members who weren't busy having a whirlwind romance, and the local gardening groups who never seem to have deer problems after they complain about them on facebook -- but I am writing so, so many other things that it may be a long time before those see the light of day. Still, maybe someday? </p><p>For now, though, that's a wrap. Cheers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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